Mars Disarmed 

A Play in Four Acts 



Mars Disarmed 



A PLAY 
fn jFour ^tt6 



BY R. CUNNINGHURST 




SAN FRANCISCO 

The Whitaker and Ray Company 

(Incorporated) 

1901 






THE LIBRARY ©F 

GO>!Gf?ESS, 
Two Coi»ifcS Recsveb 

FEB. 10 1902 

CftPvqiOHT ENTWY 

CLASS >cr xXa No. 

/ w- 3 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1901, 
By R. Cunninghtjrst. 



0^0015/7 



THE PERSONS OP TH^ PLAY. 

General Vimont, in the service of the Emperor Napoleon. 

Alixe, his sister. 

Count de Birson, secretary to Vimont and preceptor to 

Alixe. 
Marquis de Mirvoisin, nephew of Birson' s. 
Fresney. 
Sellier. 

Madeleine de Marot. 
Madame de la Marthe. 
Mademoiselle de la Marthe. 
AuDRE, an Orderly. 
The Mayor of Marcy. 
The Abbot of Narmontier. 
An Old Farmer, \ 

Bosquet, [• Tenants of Vimont, 

Vignier, / 

Latour, \ 

Chartier, / ^ J 
,, > Seconds. 

Meaupert, V 

Beaumont, ^ 

AeMAND, lg^„„„(,. 

Edmond, ) 

Gaston, a Page. 

Clement, an Agent of the Police. 

A Gardener. 

Guests, Farmers, Tenants, Etc. 



PERIOD 

A.D. 1807. The Year of the Battle of Friedland 



The Scene in the First, Second, and Third Acts takes 
PLACE in the Chateau of the Vimonts. The Scene 
IN THE Fourth Act takes place in the adjoining 
Chateau of the Marquis de Mirvoisin. 



The Action takes place in Four successive Days 

THE FIRST ACT 

THE RETURN FROM FRIEDLAND 

THE SECOND ACT 

THE DESCRIPTION OF FRIEDLAND 

THE THIRD ACT 

THE CHALLENGE 

THE FOURTH ACT 

THE DUEL 



MARS DISARMED. 

THE FIRST ACT. 

THE RETURN FROM FRIEDLAND. 

Time: Afternoon. 

Library^ richly furnished. To the right, long table 
covered with booJcs, documents, rolls of paper, 
etc. In a prominent place, opposite table, an 
antique arm-chair with high bach. In a cor- 
ner, a page sleeps. Birson (a man of forty; 
shoulders slightly suggestive of those of a hunch- 
back; light mustache, waxed upwards; slow of 
speech; dressed in black, style Louis XVI.; 
fastidiously neat; obviously vain; dignified 
and serious in the presence of others; frivolous 
and theatrical when alone) is seated at the 
table, reading and correcting a MS. Occa- 
sionally he reads a passage aloud; runs his 
pen through a line; alters a paragraph; nods 
approvingly, or shakes his head in disap- 
proval. 

Birson. 

[Reading aloud.'] ^' But mortals, for being aus- 
tere, are none the less mortal "... That sounds 



8 MARS DISARMED. 

well . . . [Reads to himself; corrects; then aloud.'] 
" The Princess grew more restless — like a bird, 
long caged, sighing for the fields and forests" 
. . . Exquisitely poetic. [Reads to himself; then 
aloud.'] " What, Princess, would you think of 
the slave who dared to look longingly in the eyes 
of his mistress ? " . . . That is to the point — 
very much to the point . . . [Looks at clock and 
calls page.] Gaston! [No response.] Gaston! 
[No response. He waits a second and calls louder.] 
Gaston! [Still receiving no response, he turns 
slowly in his chair and sees the page asleep. Ap- 
proaching, he takes him by the ear and raises him 
from the seat. Page awakens with frightened 
look?^ What pranks were you up to last night, 
that you need slumber in broad daylight? Take 
a book and sit in the ante-chamber. I'll call you 
when I need you; and be careful not to come 
till I call you. [Page goes out, rubbing his eyes. 
BiRSON goes to the table, takes the MS. in hand 
and arranges the sheets carefully.] Yes — this may 
reveal to her my sentiments; failing which, it 
may facilitate my declaring them . . . Delicate 
conception! . . . Admirable plan! . . . I wonder 
how it will sound when it falls upon her ears . . . 
[He reads.] " On the wooded banks of the Arno, 
not far from the ancient city of Florence . . ." No 
— let the picture be complete in my mind, that I 
may better grasp the role I am to play . . . [He 
advances to the door, bows low to an imaginary 
lady, offers her his hand, and escorts her to the old- 
fashioned arm-chair with high back; he bows low 
again and withdraws to a point at end of table, 



MARS DISARMED. 9 

where he takes position to read. After looking 
earnestly in the direction of the arm-chair, he reads 
the MS. aloud.l " On the wooded banks of the 
Arno, not far from the ancient city of Florence, 
stood a palace, surrounded by a vast domain. 
Here, attended by her maids, lived the Princess 
Amarinta — now in her sixteenth year — the sole 
survivor of the princely house of Borimenti. 
The last worldly act of her father was to confide 
her to the care of Luigi, his faithful secretary, 
a man of noble birth but shattered fortune . . . 

[Page enters^ 

Page. 

Monsieur de la Marsignerie sends to inquire 
whether there is news of Colonel Vimont. 

BiRSON. 

Tell the messenger to convey to Monsieur de la 
Marsignerie my regrets at having to inform him 
that, up to the present moment, there is no news 
of the Colonel. [Page goes out. Birson mutters 
to himself^ I am bothered all day long with in- 
quiries as to. whether there is news of the Colonel 
— as to whether there is any prospect of hearing 
from the Colonel — as to when I expect the 
Colonel to return . . . The Colonel will never 
return — alive. [He resumes his attitude and reads 
the MS.'\ " On the wooded banks of the Arno 
. . ." [A servant enters. Birson looks annoyed^ 
What do you wish? 



10 MARS DISARMED. 

Servant. 

[Obsequiously.'] I wish to know whether Mon- 
sieur has any orders for me. 

BiRSON. 

None — or I should have sent for you. [Ser- 
vant is about to withdraw, when Birson recalls him.'] 
Armand! ... on reflection, I have something to 
tell you. 

Servant. 

[Obsequiously] At your service, Monsieur. 

BiRSON. 

I hear you have been speaking of me. 

Servant. 
Ah, Monsieur, I know I have enemies. 

BiRSON. 

None worse than yourself. To speak dispar- 
agingly of your superiors is not incumbent on 
you. 

Servant. 

Disparagingly, Monsieur — oh, I beg your par- 
don. 

BiRSON. 

Excuses are useless. I know whereof I speak. 



MARS DISARMED. 11 

Servant. 
At least Monsieur might tell me what I said. 

BiRSON. 

Need I tell you that which you already know? 

Servant. 
Ah, pardon, Monsieur. I know nothing. 

BiRSON. 

Well, then, listen to your own words: Monsieur 
de Birson — that is myself — assumes a great deal 
in trying to control this establishment. Monsieur 
de Birson — that is myself — affects a great many 
airs. Monsieur de Birson — that is myself — thinks 
that because he is connected with the nobility of 
a regime that is no more, he is a superior person, 
whereas he is but a paid hireling of Colonel Vi- 
mont, like Monsieur Armand — that is yourself. 

Servant. 

Ah, pardon. Monsieur. I never uttered such 
sentiments. 

Birson. 

Not only you lied when you spoke thus, but 
you lie now, when you deny having spoken thus. 
I wish you to understand that if I assume to 
control this establishment, it is because I have 
been commissioned to do so by Colonel Vimont; 



12 MARS DISARMED. 

and in virtue of the power vested in me by him, 
I dismiss you from his service. 

Servant. 

Dismissed! Is this the reward of faithful ser- 
vice to my master — the Colonel? 

BiRSON. 

It is the reward of faithful service to your 
master — Falsehood. 

Servant. 
I am to go, then. Monsieur? 

Birson. 
You are to leave this house within an hour. 
[He turns his hack to the servant and reads 
the MS. in his hand.'] 

Servant. 

[Losing his obsequious manner and speaking ex- 
citedly.] 1 wish you to understand. Monsieur, 
that every word I said of you, and which you 
have repeated, is true. You are a hireling and 
you try to play the master. You are a nonentity 
and you affect the manners of the Grand Sei- 
gneur. Furthermore, I know that you dislike me, 
and dismiss me, because I am a Bonapartist, 
like the Colonel, while you are a Royalist, like 
the cowards beyond the frontier. You . . . 



MARS DISARMED. 13 

BiRSON. 

^Calmly. Facing the servant.'] Do you see the 
door? 

Servant. 

[With an air of defiance. Door half open.] My 
day will come. 

[Servant withdraws. After a minute^s pause, 
BiRSON rings hell. Page enters.] 

BiRSON. 

Tell Edmond I wish to see him. [Page goes 
out. Edmond enters.] Edmond, I have, for good 
cause, dismissed Armand. It pained me to do 
so. Material is becoming scarce. All the men 
are being drawn into the army. If this con- 
tinues, we shall have no more servants, no more 
tenants, no more farmers — nothing but women 
and children . . . and [aside] obviously few of 
the latter . . . Edmond, you will take Armand's 
place, but profit by his experience; don't talk 
too much — especially about me. 

Servant. 

[Bowing.] Thank you. Monsieur; thank you 
... I shall profit by Armand's experience . . . 

[Edmond goes out. Birson, his hands behind 
his hack, walks up and down the room, 
speaking to himself, and occasionally aloud.] 



14 MARS DISARMED. 

BlRSON. 

I shall be master here . . . and continue mas- 
ter .. . 

Page. 

Madame and Mademoiselle de la Marthe. 

BiRSON. 

[Evidently annoyed. Hesitating, and then in a 
resigned tone.'] I'll see them. [Page goes out, 
and, the next moment, ushers in the ladies — both of 
them curiosities in their way. The elder, dressed 
in the utmost simplicity, has preciseness of speech 
and dignity of manner. The younger — her daugh- 
ter — tries to conceal her forty years by an elabo- 
rate toilette and a frivolity of speech and manner 
bordering on the ludicrous.'] Ah, my dear aunt 
and charming cousin! [He kisses their hands.] I 
am delighted to see you. To what am I indebted 
for this unexpected visit ? 

Madame de la Marthe. 
[Solemnly.] Family news of importance. 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 

[Rolling her eyes and clasping her hands in an 
ecstatic manner.] Of importance, indeed ! of im- 
portance to me! 

Birson. 

[Astonished.] What ? Are you to be married, 
Christine ? 



MARS DISARMED. 15 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
Yes — I am to be married — before long. 

Madame de la Marthe. 

Christine is speaking inferentially. The fact 
is that Corisande is to marry St. Arnauldt. 

BiRSON. 

Indeed! Both are to be congratulated. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
And you remember the old family tradition? 

BiRSON. 

[Confused.] Of so many, which one? 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
The most delightful of all! 

Madame de la Marthe. 

One marriage in the family always followed 
by two others within the twelvemonth. 

Birson. 
[Joyfully.] It never failed. 

Mdlle. de la marthe. 
[More joyfully.] It never will. 



16 MARS DISARMED. 

Madame de la Marthe. 

Be calm, my child. [Turning to Birson.'] The 
question which puzzles us is this: Does the tra- 
dition refer to three marriages in the family, or 
to three members of the family being married? 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 

[With emphasis.] I claim it is three mar- 
riages. 

BiRSON. 

Why do you insist? 

[Mademoiselle looks coy — m^oves her foot nerv- 
ously — and remains sile7it.'] 

Madame de la Marthe. 

Because it gives her one chance more — poor 
child. 

Birson. 
How so? 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 

Corisande and St. Arnauldt are not only 
cousins of ours — but they, themselves, are cous- 
ins. Being cousins, it follows that while there 
are two members of the family being married, 
there will be but one wedding — hence, according 
to tradition, two other weddings will follow\ 

[She takes a few steps of a merry dance.'] 



MARS DISARMED. 17 

Madame de la Marthe. 

[Solemnly.] With prospects of peace, the offi- 
cers will be returning. 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
[Rapturously. ] What joy! 

Madame de la Marthe. 

Up to now, victories abroad have accumulated, 
and opportunities at home have diminished. 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 

All this glory has been purely mascuHne. It 
has not brought joy to maidens' hearts. 

Madame de la Marthe. 

Do not complain, my child. Had you married 
earlier, you would probably be, to-day, one of the 
thousands of widows in France. 

BiRSON. 

Do not despair, my cousin; Corisande and St. 
Arnauldt are to marry, and two marriages in the 
family will follow. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
[Sighing.'] I hope Christine's will be the sec- 
ond, 

BiRSON. 

[Prophetically.] If at all, it will be the third. 



18 MARS DISARMED. 

Madame and Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
The third! The third! 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
And pray, whose will the second be ? 

BiRSON. 

[Hesitating a moment — then drawing himself up 
proudly.'] Mine — Jean Gabriel de Birson's. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
You? 

BiRSON. 

I — as stated. 

Mlle. de la Marthe. 
To whom? 

BiRSON. 

[After looking around the room, and seeing that 
the door is closed.] To Mademoiselle Vimont. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
The Colonel's sister? 

BiRSON. 

The Colonel's sister. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
Have you proposed to her? 



MARS DISARMED. 19 

BiRSON. 

No— but I propose doing so— and while yon 
are here, I wish to consult you as to the best 
manner to proceed. You know she has no par- 
ents here whom I can approach. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
But her brother? ... She tells everyone she 
promised her brother never to pledge herself 
without his consent. 

BiRSON. 

True— but her brother will never return. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
What do you mean? 

BiRSON. 

Vimont is a maniac on the battlefield; he is 
always in the thick of the fight, where danger is 
greatest; and, mark my words, the battlefield 
will claim him as a victim. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
A victim to the greed, the ambition, of Na- 
poleon. 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
You think she will accept you? 



20 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

[Swelling with pride.'] Why not? She has 
always been amiable to me. I am her brother's 
best friend, as my father was to his father. And 
then you know there is always a tendency — a 
natural and a wise tendency — on the part of a 
new regime to associate itself with the old — es- 
pecially with a family as old and as distinguished 
as ours. 

Madame de la Marthe. 

I hope so. She may rehabilitate the family 
fortunes. She must be very rich. 

BiRSON. 

Immensely rich . . . and exquisitely charm- 
ing. But tell me, which of the two plans would 
you think the likelier to succeed: a proposal — a 
direct proposal . . . Frankly, I do not quite ap- 
prove of this method ... I am so timid in such 
matters ... or an indirect proposal, by means 
of what we might call a ruse? 

Madame de la Marthe. 

A ruse — What do you mean to imply there- 
by? 

BiRSON. 

This — You know that one of my duties as 

Mademoiselle Vimont's preceptor is to read to 

her three times a week — any subject I please. I 

have composed something . . . the MS. is 



MARS DISARMED. 21 

there . . . [he points to the table] in which I 
relate — as having occurred in the olden times — a 
case somewhat similar to mine. This will intro- 
duce the situation, and by leading gently to the 
subject, allow me to approach it with greater 
ease. 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
How romantic! 

Madame de la Marthe. 

[Rising to leave.] Any plan will do, my dear 
Jean, provided it succeeds. I hope you and 
Christine will not be disappointed ... Do not 
fail to write and congratulate Corisande and St. 
Arnauldt. 

[BiRSON escorts them to the door and hows them 
out. He walks the floor silently for a few 
moments. Looks at the clock^ 

BiRSON. 

Half an hour before she comes ... I shall 
risk it to-day. I must not miss the opportunity 
of making mine one of the three weddings the 
family is to celebrate this year. [He takes the 
MS. in hand; resumes his position at head of the 
table. Reads.] "On the wooded banks of the 
Arno, not far from the ancient city of Florence 
. . ." [Alixe, a girl of eighteen, in Empire dress, 
enters. Birson, embarrassed, bows low.] I am 
flattered, though somewhat disconcerted, by 



22 MARS DISARMED. 

Mademoiselle's appearance before the usual 
hour. 

Alixe. 

I was induced to come earlier, Monsieur de 
Birson, by my desire to know whether you have 
news of my brother. 

BiRSON. 

I have none, or I should have hastened to in- 
form Mademoiselle. 

Alixe. 

I have weird apprehensions. It is over two 
months since Friedland was fought, and yet not 
a word from Eugene, not a word from his friends. 
I am growing anxious, impatient. 

BiRSON. 

I am convinced Mademoiselle's anxiety is un- 
founded. 

Alixe. 

If my anxiety be unfounded, then, surely, my 
impatience is well founded. If he be alive and 
well, why does he not write? 

BiRSON. 

[Gallantly.'] Letters, like love sighs, Mademoi- 
selle, do not always reach destination. 



MARS DISARMED. 23 

Alixe. 

I fear that dream — that constant dream of his 
— the marshal's baton — will lure him on to reck- 
less deeds, to unforeseen dangers. 

BiRSON. 

Have no fear, Mademoiselle; the Colonel will 
come when least expected, as do most things in 
life. 

Alixe. 

Then I shall try not to expect him, and listen 
attentively to your discourse. 

BiRSON. 

The punctuality with which Mademoiselle at- 
tends my lectures pleases me, and leads me 
to believe that the part, however humble, I am 
called upon to play in her education is not dis- 
agreeable to her. 

Alixe. 

What I first considered a duty, in obedience to 
my brother's wishes, I now consider a pleasure. 
What is your subject to-day, Monsieur de 
Birson? 

BiRSON. 

My subject? Let me see — ah! it is not exactly 
what might be called a subject ... A scene 
from an old Italian romance ... by one Httle 
known, in the world of letters at least. It will, 



24 MARS DISARMED. 

I hope, prove a pleasant diversion for Mademoi- 
selle. 

Alixe. 

[Taking her seat in the old arm-chair with high 
back.'] I am interested. 

BmsoN. 

[Going to the table and turning over the pages of 
the MS. Apparently embarrassed.'] The origi- 
nal is in Italian; the translation is my own. 
[He takes a position at the head of the table, op- 
posite Alixe. He recites mainly from memory, 
referring occasionally to the MS. His delivery is 
slow and clear; his attitude and manner that of a 
poet reciting his verses to his lady-love.] On the 
wooded banks of the Arno, not far from the 
ancient city of Florence, stood a palace sur- 
romided by a vast domain. Here, attended by 
her maids, lived the Princess Amarinta — now in 
her sixteenth year — the sole survivor of the 
princely house of Borimenti. The last worldly 
act of her father was to confide her to the care of 
Luigi, his faithful secretary — a man of noble 
birth but shattered fortune. The austerity of 
Luigi's life compensated, in the Prince's eyes, for 
his lack of years. His child would be safe in 
the hands of one who, without the priest's robes, 
had all the priest's virtues. But mortals, for 
being austere, are none the less mortal. They 
have eyes which reflect the beauty around them; 
they have passions which surge within them. 
Luigi, having vainly resisted his nature, became 



3fARS DISARMED. 25 

a slave to the charms of the fair Princess. But 
his heart beat secretly; his tongue was silent, and 
Amarinta Uttle dreamed there dwelt in her 
palace one who found within its gloomy walls 
more than the entire outer world could offer. 
She — she sighed to wander beyond those walls, 
to find that which she could not find within. 
Timidly at first, and then with increased candor, 
she spoke to Luigi of many things of which she 
had heard; of the great cities— Florence, Rome, 
Naples. And he, with solemn look, shook his 
head and said, "Snares these cities be; traps 
for the unwary; traps for morals, for unsuspept- 
ing virtue." When, anon and again, the Prin- 
cess thus spoke of the world without, Luigi grew 
sad, and deemed his fair world approaching an 
end. Once, alas for him! she asked if there 
lived in her day, as of old, knights who were 
handsome and bold, who, to win their lady's 
hand, sought adventure in distant lands, return- 
ing with laurels on their brow. She had read of 
such in books; did they five in the flesh? 
Luigi, with severe brow but tender voice, bade 
her beware of the poet's fancy— the glamour of 
romance. The days of chivalry were over . . . 
her books referred to times of long, long ago. 

IPage enters.'] 

BiRSON. 

[Looking angrily at page.] Is it important 
that you should disturb me ? 



26 MARS DISARMED. 

Page. 

[With an air of triumph.'] A letter for Mad- 
emoiselle! 

Alixe. 

[As the page advances towards her.] Can it be 
news from Eugene? [She opens the letter and 
reads it.] Alas no! Others, like myself, are 
anxious for news of him. [She goes to the table, 
writes a short note, which she hands to page. 
Page ivithdraws.] How good our neighbors are 
. . . Monsieur de Birson, I was following you 
with interest. Pray continue. 

BiRSON. 

[Resuming his attitude and continuing the nar- 
rative.] Day by day the Princess grew more 
restless, like a bird, long caged, sighing for the 
fields and forests. Her maids worried as they 
noticed her increasing melancholy. The oldest 
of them made bold to speak to Luigi. " I fear," 
she said, "our mistress, the Princess, is pining 
away. She craves excitement; she craves . . ." — 
"Youth craves many things," quoth Luigi; "but 
is not the bitterness of ignorance less than that 
of knowledge? The world of our imagination is 
fairer than the world of our vision. Should we, 
willfully, draw aside the veil of Illusion, beyond 
which is concealed the specter of Disenchant- 
ment? The fool's paradise is at least a paradise. 
The wise man — so called — lives in a laboratory, 
a dissecting-room; he analyzes all things and 



MARS DISARMED. 27 

learns to despise all things . . ." — "Ah me!" 
sighed the duenna; "you are a learned man." 
And returning to the maids, she whispered with 
an air of wisdom, " The Princess is unhappy as 
she is, it is true; but might she not be unhappier 
if she were otherwise than she is?" 

Luigi continued to hear — too often for his 
peace of mind! — of the outer world, of brave 
knights, of bold deeds, and he began to fear lest 
— unless he, himself, proved brave and bold — joy 
should vanish from his life forever . . . One 
soft, quiet evening, as the sun, in a blaze of 
color, was setting beyond the trees on the southern 
bank of the Arno, Amarinta sat at her lattice, 
gazing less at the scene before her than meditat- 
ing on what lay beyond her view, when Luigi, 
moved by some power beyond his control, entered 
the room and stood in her presence. 

" Fair Princess," he said — his voice trembling 
with emotion — " do you deem it audacious of 
mortal to gaze at the sun in the heavens? " 

" The sun is in the heavens to give light and 
warmth to mortals," answered Amarinta. 

" Fair Princess, do you deem it presumptuous 
of the violet to rest on the bosom of the maiden? " 

" For that purpose," replied Amarinta, " the 
violet is sought and is prized." 

"And what, Princess! would you think of 
the slave who dared look longingly in the eyes 
of his mistress? " 

"Ah, therein, I surmise, lies something of a dif- 
ference." 

" And yet, fair Princess, less difference lies be- 



^8 MARS DISARMED. 

tween the slave and his mistress, than between 
the violet and the maiden. They, at least, are of 
the same nature; both have hearts, both have 
passions . . ." 

" True," said the Princess ..." Continue, 
good Luigi, continue ..." But Luigi stood 
silent and dared not proceed. 

[Reciting these last lines, Birson's iwice betrays 
his inner thoughts. With one hand he rests 
against the table, while the other nervously 
clutches the MS.] 

Alixe. 
Continue . . . 

BiRSON. 

[With faltering voice.'] I cannot. 

Alixe. 

Continue, I pray you. Monsieur de Birson; I 
would know the end. [Birson remains silent — 
now looHng fixedly at the floor, then, in a semi-im- 
ploring ivay, at Alixe. The latter, alarmed, rises 
and approaches him.] The story you have re- 
lated has affected you deeply. 

Birson. 
[With suppressed emotion.] It has — deeply. 

Alixe. 
Yet it is but fiction. 



MARS DISARMED. 29 

BiRSON. 

\^With emphasis.'] It is reality. 

Alixe. 
Its characters are dead. 

BiRSON. 

They both hve. 

Alixe. 
Where ? 

BiRSON. 

In this chateau. 

Alixe.. 
Who are they? 

BiRSON. 

[After a moments pause.] The Princess is 
yourself; her lover [he falls on his knees before 
her] myself. 

[Page enters. Birson, confused, rises.] 

Page. 

The Marquis de Mirvoisin desires to see Mon^ 
sieur. 

Birson. 

[Impatiently.] That ever-present nephew of 



30 MARS DISARMED. 

mine! Tell him I am engaged . . . that I can- 
not see him. 

Alixe. 

Pardon, Monsieur de Birson — I should like to 
see Monsieur de Mirvoisin. Maybe he, or some 
of his friends, has later news from Friedland. 

[BiRSON, disconcerted, looks appealingly at 
Alixe. Page opens door. The Marquis — 
a bright, jovial young man, in riding suit — 
comes in with a dash, but, upon perceiving 
Alixe, he stops short and bows low.'\ 

Mirvoisin. 

I crave your pardon. Mademoiselle, for appear- 
ing before you thus. In truth, I expected to see 
my uncle alone — but, for once, realization has 
surpassed expectation. [He hisses her hand.'] 

Alixe. 

You will be forgiven cheerfully, Monsieur de 
Mirvoisin, if you give me tidings of my brother. 
Have you heard from him, or of him? 

Mirvoisin. 

It pains me to be unable to give the an- 
swer you desire. But rest assured, Mademoiselle, 
that one so favored by fortune — loved by the 
fairest of sisters and cared for by the mightiest of 
emperors — will never be in a position other than 
to awaken the envy of all men. 



MARS DISARMED. 31 

Alixe. 

I pray this may be so. And now— since you 
came to see Monsieur de Birson, and not me— I 
leave you to his good care. 

[Alixe goes out— the Marquis bowing low 
and folloiving her with his eyes.] 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah, uncle, there is in that woman a charm— a 
something, I know not what— which makes me 
feel that I would do great, yes, desperate, things 
to win her. 

BiRSON. 

[Sarcastically.] I have heard something to 
that effect before. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I know I have been in love ere this — and often 
— but until I saw Mademoiselle Vimont I never 
felt what is called, and truly called, a grand pas- 
sion. And do you know — why should I not tell 
you, since you are so close to me ?— there is an 
inner voice which whispers that she is not indif- 
ferent to my love. It is not conceit . . . 

BiRSON. 

[Jtaising his eyes.] Conceit, indeed! 

MiRVOISIN. 

But when I bring her hand to my lips, I feel it 



32 MARS DISARMED. 

tremble, and I fancy it lingers willingly within 
my grasp. 

BiRSON. 

Your fancy does offense to your modesty. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah, uncle, dear, cynical uncle — you sneer at 
all this. 

BiRSON. 

Cynicism may be part of my composition, but 
obviously intuition does not enter into yours. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I have often heard you state — wherein, by the 
way, I do not agree with you — that the Bona- 
partists are all parvenus. 

BiRSON. 

With rare exceptions, they are. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Admitting, for the sake of argument, your 
statement to be true, it should follow that an 
alliance with a member of the old nobility would 
be exceedingly gratifying to a Bonapartist. 

BiRSON. 

[With an air of satisfaction.'] I quite agree 
with you. 



MARS DISARMED. 33 

MiRVOISIN. 

It would give them a cachet which they other- 
wise lack. 

BiRSON. 

I fully agree with you. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It would also give them that which, according 
to you, they need— a foundation of stability. 

BiRSON. 

I agree with you there, also; hut where I do 
not agree with you is, that the Vimonts, who un- 
doubtedly aspire to all this, need fall back on you 
to secure it. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah, indeed! [With malicious smile.'] And, 
pray,'what would be their objections to me? 

BiRSON. 

[With an air of authority.] Be satisfied with 
the information I offer— that they will secure 
what they wish in that line, and will secure it 
without your intervention. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Would the objections, you imagine, come from 
Mademoiselle Vimont, or from her brother ? 



34 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

Your question is pointed. The Colonel would 
object . . . but that I put aside as of little con- 
sequence. 

MiRVOISIN. 

By that you mean? 

BiRSON. 

Simply this: foolhardiness must meet the fate 
it courts. A man may brave the cannon's mouth 
once, twice, a dozen times perhaps, but the can- 
non's day will come. [Mysteriously.'] Have not 
more than two months elapsed since Friedland, 
and not a sign from him ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

He may be the bearer of his own sign — your 
forebodings notwithstanding. But tell me, uncle 
mine, you who know so much, v>^ho is the lucky 
man who is to win Mademoiselle Vimont's hand? 

BiRSON. 

Inquisitiveness seldom hears the answer it 
expects. [A pause.] By the way, who do you 
imagine will be the lucky man? 

MiRVOISIN. 

Supposing I were to tell you it was I . . . what 
would you say ? 



MARS DISARMED. 



35 



BiRSON. 

I would say that, like ^sop's, your mind runs 
to fables. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It is in the fable we find the greatest truth. 

BiRSON. 

Your assertion is the fable minus the truth. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It is the truth minus the fable. [Taking Bir- 
son's hands.] Congratulate me, uncle. 

BiRSON. 

[Draiving his hands away.] You . . . You . . . 
I do not believe it. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Your disbelief does not alter the fact. 

BiRSON. 

[With hitterness.] Did you propose to Madem- 
oiselle Vimont ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

I did. 

BiRSON. 

Did she say "yes"? 



36 MARS DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

She did not say " no." 

BiRSON. 

Ah! as I thought . . . like a woman, you 
jumped at a conclusion. 

MiRVOISIN. 

No — unlike you, I did not jump at a conclu- 
sion. 

BiRSON. 

What, then, did she say? 

MiRVOISIN. 

She said what I knew — what you know — that 
having promised her brother not to engage herself 
definitely without first consulting him, I should 
have to wait — that he would return before long, 
and then ... Is it clear enough ? 

BiRSON. 

It would be clearer if your statement were con- 
firmed by the young lady herself ... I propose 
to ascertain . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

[With an angry movement.'] It will be at your 
peril ! . . . Now mark what I say — if you betray 
my secret, which is also her secret, not only will 



MARS DISARMED. 37 

you incur her eternal displeasure, but [changing 
his voice to gentler tones] you will injure my 
cause, and this, dear uncle, I know you would 
not do. [A moments pause, during which Birson 
shows great nervousness. Mirvoisin approaches 
him and takes his hands affectionately.] May I 
not depend on you to remain silent on what I 
have just revealed to you ? May I not count also 
on your material assistance ? Praise me to Mad- 
emoiselle Vimont — you can praise so sweetly 
when you desire; to Vimont, when he returns, 
relate my virtues, even exaggerate them — this, 
coming from you, will not be out of place — and 
you exaggerate so artfully when the spirit moves 
you. 

Birson. 

[With affected calmness.] I shall, as you re- 
quest, remain silent in regard to the statement 
you have just made; silent, also, I shall remain 
in regard to the praises you would have me sing 
in your behalf. I cannot utter words which do 
not find an echo in my heart. Nay, if I spoke at 
all, I should express indignation that you, a 
Mirvoisin — a Mirvoisin whose ancestors have 
been loaded with favors by the King — should 
think of allying yourself to a family whose head 
is fighting under the usurper's banner. 

Mirvoisin. 
Still harping on that subject! 



38 MARS DISARMED, 

BiRSON. 

Since you present it to me, why should I not 
harp thereon? The step you have taken con- 
vinces me of that which I have long suspected: 
your total lack of principles. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Principles, esteemed uncle, are excellent things 
so long as they can be followed. Where they can- 
not be followed, you might as well chase rain- 
bows — beautiful, certainly, but as useless as they 
are intangible. You do reverence to dead princi- 
ples; I do reverence to living ones. Were the 
King alive, no more loyal subject would he have 
than I; no more valiant soldier — but Royalty is 
no more. 

BiRSON. 

[With emphasis.] Royalty never dies. The 
King is dead; long live the King! 

MiRVOISIN. 

But where is the King? Where his court, his 
courtiers? Who witnesses his presence? Who 
hears his commands? The King is dead, and no 
King lives to take his place. Napoleon lives, he 
reigns . . . 

BiRSON. 

He usurps . . . 



MARS DISARMED. 39 

MiRVOISIN. 

He is an actuality — a personality. 

BiRSON. 

He is a dark cloud — a shadow — passing over 
France. 

MiRVOISIN. 

A shadow! — a shadow, the hero of Marengo! a 
shadow, the victor of Austerlitz! a shadow, the 
conqueror at Friedland! a shadow, the power 
which compelled Austria, Prussia, Russia, to bite 
the dust, and made of France the mistress of 
Europe. Ah, let us. Royalists at heart, bow to 
the inevitable, especially since it is a glorious 
inevitable 1 

BiRSON. 

What words from one who once professed loy- 
alty to his country! 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Striking his chest.] And still professes it! 

BiRSON. 

It is obvious that you have caught the conta- 
gion of the age — the spirit of revolution, of change. 
That the timid and the adventurous should 
submit to the new order of things, I understand — 
but you . . . 



40 MARS DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

And you — have you not submitted to the new 
order of things in a most striking manner — sec- 
retary to a Bonapartist colonel; preceptor to his 
Bonapartist sister ? [Laughs.] 

BiRSON. 

If I submit, it is, as you well know, because 
circumstances compel me. You, on the contrary, 
still have wealth; you are independent . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Sarcastically.'] What would you have me do 
— overthrow Bonaparte? 

[Alixe enters, in an excited state, a letter in 
her hand.] 

Alixe. 

I have news from Eugene . . . news . . . but 
what news! [She hands the letter to Birson.] 
Read it. 

BiRSON. 

[Glancing at the letter.] From Colonel Les- 
trier! [He reads.] I write at the command of 
the Emperor. It is with mixed feehngs of grief 
and joy that I fulfill the duty imposed upon me 
by his Majesty. Your brother, Colonel Vimont, 
distinguished himself gallantly at Friedland. 
He won the approval of the Emperor, the admira- 
tion of the army, and an enduring place in the 



MARS DISARMED. 41 

realms of Fame. Unfortunately, and by a re- 
markable coincidence — rare even in the strange 
annals of war — he was, within the space of a few 
moments, wounded in the two arms, necessitat- 
ing the amputation of both members. But be 
reassured. Mademoiselle; your esteemed brother, 
whose valuable life was once despaired of, now 
enjoys excellent health. You may expect to em- 
brace him shortly after the receipt of this letter. 

It affords me a lively satisfaction, Mademoi- 
selle, to inform you that it has pleased his Ma- 
jesty the Emperor, in recognition of Colonel 
Vimont's gallant services, to promote him to the 
rank of General and to confer on him the cordon 
of the Legion of Honor. 

I beg of you, Mademoiselle, to accept the ex- 
pression of my most distinguished consideration. 

Lestrier. 

[BiRSON, embarrassed, hands the letter to 
Alixe.] 

Alixe. 
I know not whether to mourn or to rejoice. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Rejoice, Mademoiselle, rejoice. Let us be 
thankful that where so many brave men lost 
their lives, the bravest of all only lost his arms. 

Alixe. 
True, it is fitting we should rejoice — for has he 



42 MARS DISARMED. 

not escaped the grave by the rarest of miracles? 
. . . Ah, what joy to think he Hves — that every 
instant brings him nearer to us — that he may be 
here at any moment . . . Quick! we must pre- 
pare. Let the chateau assume a festal appear- 
ance; let the flag be unfurled from the eastern 
turret. . . . You, Monsieur de Mirvoisin, do me 
a service. I cannot, in my present state of mind, 
write to our friends to give them the news. Will 
you see them — the Marsigneries, the Marots, 
Fresney, all of them — and say I wish them to at- 
tend a little /^f6! the day after Eugene's arrival — 
to drink to his health and celebrate his return. 



Mirvoisin. 

I am always at your service, Mademoiselle, but 
never more cheerfully so than on this occasion. 

\_IIe kisses her hand, and goes out.'] 



Alixe. 

You, Monsieur de Birson, be good enough to 
tell Edmond to see that Eugene's apartments are 
prepared. 

BiRSON. 

Mademoiselle . . . 

Alixe. 
[Liste7iing.'] What is that I hear ? 



MARS DISARMED. 43 

BiRSON. 

Mademoiselle . . . 

Alixe. 

Listen. [The cracking of whips, the tramping 
of horses, and rolling of wheels are heard in the 
courtyard. Alixe rushes to the window.'] It is 
he! it is he! [She goes to the door, which opens 
at her approach, and Eugene, in the uniform of a 
General, enters. He is young, and wears a military 
cape to conceal the loss of his arms. Alixe throws 
her arms around his neck.] Thanks be to heaven 
— here you are at last! 

ViMONT. 

[Wearily.] Yes, here I am — what is left of me. 

Alixe. 

[Disappointed.] What! You do not seem 
happy to see me. 

ViMONT. 

Yes, I am happy to see you — happier, no doubt, 
to see you well and strong, than you to see me 
thus. 

Alixe. 

It is you — that suffices . . . Let me remove 

your kolbach. 



44 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Shaking his head impatiently.'] No! [He sits 
in an arm-chair. A servant offers to remove his 
cape. He rises abruptly, and, with an angry look, 
says in a loud voice.~\ Leave me alone! I am 
not paralyzed, impotent. I know what I want; 
I do what I desire. [With a sudden, rapid move- 
ment of the head, he throws his kolhach to the floor, 
and turning to the servant.'] My cape remains; I 
wish it to remain. Do you understand ? 

[Every one has a frightened look. Birson 
withdraws to a corner. The servants escape 
from the room. Alixe approaches her 
brother, places her hands on his shoulders, 
looks appealingly into his eyes.] 



END OF FIRST ACT. 



THE SECOND ACT. 

THE DESCRIPTION OF FRIEDLAND. 

Time: Afternoon of the Following Day. 

Terrace adjoining chateau, a wing of which is seen. 
Large overhanging tree, through the branches 
of which appears a landscape in the distance. 
Broad steps, to the left, lead up to the terrace, 
in the tvall of which is a curved stone seat. 
A table, with books and papers — several chairs 
— shrubs in large pots. A gardener is pla- 
cing a few plants on the terrace. Edmond is 
arranging the tables and chairs. They stop 
near the steps, the gardener with a flower-pot 
in hand, Edmond holding on to the back of a 
chair. The latter acts nervously, as though 
afraid of being surprised. 

Gardener. 
Is he very much changed? 

Edmond. 

What a question? Suppose you were to lose 
two of something you have on your body — two 
legs, two ears, two eyes — wouldn't you be 
changed? 

45 



46 MARS DISARMED, 

Gardener. 
I suppose so — but it might have been worse. 

Edmond. 

In one way, yes; in another way, no. When 
he lets loose his temper [he looks around anxi- 
ously] it would put a whole regiment to flight. 

Gardener. 

It is fortunate, then, that, with such a temper, 
he has no arms to strike with. 

Edmond. 

Idiot! Can't you understand — it is because he 
lost his arms that he loses his temper. 

Gardener. 

That's so. Then we had better keep away 
from his boots. 

Edmond. 

[LooMng towards chateau^ Here he comes — 
let us escape. 

[They disappear below the terrace. Vimont, 
in uniform, followed by his orderly, emerges 
from the chateau. He stands near the wall 
of the terrace, and looks out at the country 
before him — then he turns suddenly to 
orderly.] 



MARS DISARMED. 47 

ViMONT. 

Audre — the Moniteur. 

AUDRE. 

Yes, General. 

[^Orderly enters chateau and returns in an in- 
stant. He spreads the Moniteur on the 
table. ViMONT sits down and scans the 
sheet.'] 

ViMONT. 

[After reading a while.] What is this? . . . 
[Reads further.] Of course, of course — it is as I 
expected . . . Renaud is proraoted . . . Another 
campaign, and he'll be a marshal. [He reads 
further!] Ah! England is being aroused . . . 
Humph! She had better beware, or London will 
witness the same scenes as did Vienna and 
Berlin . . . With a genius like the Emperor's, 
the channel counts for naught . . . Audre, turn 
the page. [Audre does as directed. After glan- 
cing over the columns, Vimont rises and paces the 
terrace impatiently.] Yes, yes, everywhere there 
is feverish excitement — everything is in a state 
of turmoil — everyone on the tiptoe of expectancy 
— the map of Europe is being changed — great 
events are preparing — the world moves, and here 
I am, like a prisoner, caged in a castle . . . 

[Alixe, in Empire gown, appears on the 
terrace. After embracing him, she stands 
for a moment, looking at him silently. 
Orderly withdraws.] 



48 MARS DISARMED. 

Alixe. 

Ah, Eugene, what a joy it is to have you home 

again ! 

ViMONT. 



Even as I am? 
Even as you are. 



Alixe. 



ViMONT. 



Alas! I cannot embrace and caress you as of 
yore, Alixe. 

Alixe. 

No — but I can embrace and caress you. \_She 
places her arms around his neck.'] You will never 
know the loss of your arms; mine will replace 
yours, and do for you what your own would have 
done. \^He looks at her affectionately, suppresses 
a sigh, and falls heavily into a seat. She sits on a 
stool, at his feet.'] You are tired, Eugene? 

ViMONT. 

Yes, I am tired. It will take many days to 
recover from that long, wearisome trip — and 
under such circumstances. 



Alixe. 

I regret now having asked our friends to 
leet you so soon after your arrival — but they 



MARS DISARMED. 49 

were so anxious to welcome you and celebrate 
your return. 

ViMONT. 

Celebrate my return! . . . Your thought was 
a kind one, I know, AHxe; but [looking at his 
sides, ivhere once his arms were] does this call for 
celebration? 

Alixe. 

[Emharrassed.'] But why . . . why not? 

ViMONT. 

Look at me! Armless, useless, a subject of 
curiosity. People will ridicule me. 

Alixe. 

Oh, no! Ridicule a brave general, who lost 
his arms in the service of his Emperor— never ! 

ViMONT. 

A general without an army; a general, alas! 
who will never again mount a horse, never again 
see a battlefield, never again serve his country — 
my uniform becomes a mockery, and people, I 
tell you, mock me. 

Alixe. 

I cannot believe it. 

ViMONT. 

Beheve it or not, it is a fact. While eating in 



50 MARS DISARMED. 

a cafe in a frontier town, four days ago, all eyes 
were turned on me, and as my orderly cut the 
meat and brought it to my mouth, the onlookers 
chuckled . . . the brutes! [Edmond enters.'] 

Edmond. 

The tenants are here and express a desire 
to . . . 

YiMONT. 

I do not wish to see them — to see anyone. 
[He rises to leave.] 

Alixe. 

Eugene! . . . Receive them — they will re- 
main but a moment. 

ViMONT. 

[Impatiently.'] Very well. [To Edmond.] I'll 
see them. [Edmond goes out.] How many or- 
deals shall I have to go through ? [He paces the 
terrace.] You will see that my tenants, like 
everyone else, will feel embarrassed on approach- 
ing me. 

[The tenants — ten or twelve in number — as- 
cend the steps, escorted by Edmond. They 
wear the costume of the day. Their embar- 
rassment is obvious. They bow frequently. 
Some say, "Welcome, Monsieur Yimont"; 
others, "Welcome, Colonel"; others, " Wel- 
come, General." Yimont advances to meet 
them.] 



MARS DISARMED. 51 

ViMONT. 

I am glad to see you again. [An old farmer, of 
quaint appearance and comical expression, advances 
with extended hand towards Vimont, who retreats, 
as the farmer advances, to escape the extended 
hand. The other tenants look at each other, 
alarmed.] My arms are on the battlefield; I can- 
not shake hands with you. 

Old Farmer. 

[Looking apologetically at his companions.] I 
had forgotten that. [To Vimont.] We are glad 
to see you home, Colonel, and rejoice that you 
only lost your arms . . . [Pause.] May the Al- 
mighty, without whose will nothing happens, 
long preserve you from further misfortunes . . . 
[Silence.] We have asked Monsieur Bosquet to 
express to you our sentiments on this auspicious 
occasion. 

[He steps aside, and Bosquet, elaborately 
dressed for the occasion, moves forward. 
Timidity, combined with consciousness of 
the importance of his mission, gives Bosquet 
an awkioard appearance. He bows low, 
coughs loud, unrolls a large sheet of paper 
which he reads, sometimes fast, sometimes 
slow, halting frequently and repeating the 
last word of each sentence.] 

Bosquet. 
[Beading.] Men General ! The duties of a 



52 MARS DISARMED. 

great nation are divided — divided. There are 
those whose duty it is to cultivate the land for 
the people — the people — and those whose duty 
it is to protect the land from the invader — the in- 
vader. We are amongst the first — first — you are 
amongst the last — last. We have endeavored to 
perform our duty to the best of our ability, and 
we have every reason to believe that you have 
done the same — the same. Have you not fol- 
lowed the great Emperor in his perilous and yet 
victorious march across the continent — conti- 
nent? Have you not thrashed the Prussians, the 
Russians, the Austrians, the whole world — 
world? Have you not returned from the war 
with proof of your bravery? Mixed with our 
sincere sympathy for you and for Mademoiselle, 
your sister, are sentiments of pride, in which the 
entire nation joins — joins. We honor you and re- 
spect you, and you may always count on our de- 
votion and attachment — attachment. Long live 
the Emperor! 

\^He hows low several times and hacks awk- 
wardly into his companions.'] 

ViMONT. 

I thank you all for your kind sentiments, 
which I reciprocate. I congratulate you upon 
still being able to perform that duty which, as 
you say, is incumbent on a portion of the nation. 
\_He goes amongst them and addresses a few words 
to each. He stops a moment before a tall, robust 
fellow.'] How have you been, Vignier? 



MARS DISARMED. 53 

ViGNIER. 

With me, General, as with the country— every- 
thing is flourishing since the great Emperor 
rules France. I have but one anxiety. 

ViMONT. 

And that is? 

ViGNIER. 

That I may be called at the next conscription 
— for I have no boys to work my farm — but par- 
dieu! if it happens that way, I'll be ready— I'll 
throw down the spade and take up the musket, 
and shouting, " Long hve the Emperor," rush to 
the battlefield. 

ViMONT. 

Lucky man to have in prospect such a noble 
career . . . [Tenants ivithdraw in a confused 
manner — some bowing to Alixe, others to Vimont 
— some to the right, others to the left. Vimont 
turiis to his sister.] You see how embarrassing 
it is for me and for others. A man in my con- 
dition should avoid these scenes. 

Alixe. 

You are oversensitive, Eugene. Many men 
have hved, and filled the world with their fame, 
though more unfortunate than you. There was 
the great poet . . . 



54 MARS DISARMEB. 

ViMONT. 

x\h, your poet is a writer of rhymes, of ballads, 
of love songs — a dreamer! I — I am, or was, a 
soldier, a man of action. The smell of powder 
was my incense, the roar of cannon my music, 
the battlefield my playground. Fame, based on 
performance; fame, based on heroic deeds, was 
my ambition — and now . . . now all is over. 
My life can be of no further use to myself or to 
others. 

Alixe. 

[Chagrined^ You include me in the others? 

ViMONT. 

I include you in the "others," Alixe, not in 
accordance with my desire, but in recognition of 
a law which, perhaps, it is best you should sub- 
mit to. You are young . . . you are beau- 
tiful . . . you are rich; you will, some day, 
meet one to whom you will give more, to whom 
you will owe more, than to your poor brother. 
Do not protest — it is well, it is right, that you 
should do so. My life would be a double burden 
to bear, were I to realize that you, sweet Alixe, 
were doomed to be a sister of charity — ever tend- 
ing me, ever watching by my side. 

Alixe. 

It 'would be no burdensome task. It would 
pain me less, far less, than does the gloomy view 
ybu take of your condition. 



MARS DISARMED. 55 

ViMONT. 

Take! I do not take it — it is forced upon me, 
impressed upon me — incessantly, irresistibly — 
wherever I go. I cannot escape it . . . Ah! the 
miserable wretch! I remember his face well — if 
only I could have smitten it! It was the day I 
left the hospital; I was surrounded by some 
officers and a few civilians. One of the latter 
was offering me consolation for what he termed 
my great misfortune. He spoke as though it 
were a personal mishap, and nothing more, 
while I, a soldier, thinking only of my country, 
exclaimed, "Alas! what grieves me most is that 
my arms are lost to France." — "Console your- 
self," muttered a bystander, "Napoleon still 
lives!" . . . Blindness, lameness, may be becom- 
ing to a poet, but an armless body for a 
soldier . . . 

Alixe. 
Forget that you were a soldier; remember . . . 

ViMONT. 

Forget that I was a soldier! Forget all I once 
aspired to: a place in the heart of my country- 
men; a page in the annals of history — side by 
side with the greatest heroes of all time. You, of 
a gentle sex, you know not the fire of ambition, 
the allurements of fame. You, who have passed 
your days in this peaceful abode; you, who have 
never wandered in the fields of glory, you know 
naught of its pleasures, its intoxication. Ah! to 



56 3IARS DISARMED. 

have fought at Austerlitz and partaken of the 
feasts of Schonbrunn; to have participated in 
the victory of Jena, and the triumphant entry in 
the great Frederick's capital; to have seen the 
mighty hosts of the north flee before our victori- 
ous eagles; to have heard the shouts, the huz- 
zahs, of the admiring multitudes; to have had 
the great Emperor extend his imperial hand and 
place on my breast the Cross of Honor; to have 
tasted of victory, drunk from the cup of glory, 
and seen rising before me dazzling altitudes of 
fame, and then, suddenly, in a cruel hour, have 
the ladder I was ascending cut from under 
me . . . and you wonder, Alixe, that I have lost 
the joy of living! 

Alixe. 

That was the dream of the soldier ... it is 
dispelled. You are still a man, and other vistas, 
less glaring, perhaps, but far nobler, open up 
before you. War . . . 

ViMONT. 

War was my profession. 

Alixe. 

But war is cruel — its profession inhuman. You 
remember its glories and forget its horrors. Vic- 
tory for some implies defeat for others. Triumph 
on one side means humiliation on the other — 
and oh! the tears, the anxiety — I know them, I 
have felt them . . . 



MARS DISARMED. 57 

ViMONT. 

And yet — what am I to do? What can I do? 

Alixe. 

The world is large — its occupations many. 
There are emotions, better, nobler, more elevat- 
ing, than those which war engenders. Surely, if 
you are willing, if you try, if you look around, 
you will find something to occupy you, to inter- 
est you. [Alixe rises and enters the chateau. A 
minute later, an old melody — " Amaryllis,^^ for in- 
stance — is heard on the piano. Vimont, who has 
been pacing the terrace impatiently, stops suddenly 
as he hears the notes; he seems to waken, as though 
from a dream; his face brightens; he listens atten- 
tively. The music ceases. Alixe returns to her 
brother.'] Do you remember? 

ViMONT. 

It is the melody Madeleine used to play. 

Alixe. 
And which you were so fond of. 

ViMONT. 

[Dreamingly.l Sweet memories of youth — now 
buried forever. 

Alixe. 

Sweet memories which may be revived . . . 
[A moments silence.] You have not forgotten 
Madeleine? 



58 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Sighing.] No — I have not. 

Alixe. 
You never declared your love to her? 

ViMONT. 

I never dared to. 

Alixe. 

You so brave — so brave as to face a score of 
men, you dared not face a single maiden. 

ViMONT. 

I know what to expect from a score of men, 
but not from the single maiden. 

Alixe. 

You will see her . . . She will be here pres- 
ently. 

[Edmond enters and announces, as they arrive, 
the guests, who come on the terrace from 
the chateau.] 

Edmond. 
The Count de Fresney. 

Fresney. 
Welcome home. General. We have heard ac- 



MARS DISARMED. 59 

counts of your daring, your casting aside precau- 
tion and defying the Fates. Under these circum- 
stances, we rejoice that you return to us — if not 
whole, at least alive. 

ViMONT. 

Thank you, Fresney; thank you — though my 
view of the case differs somewhat from yours. 

Fresney. 
Ah — I see . . . You mean . . . 

Edmond. 
Monsieur and Madame de la Marsignerie. 
lAn elderly, distinguished couple. Monsieur 
goes up to Vimont and places both hands 
on his shoulders.^ 

Marsignerie. 
Fate is kinder to us than to you, my dear 
General— for now, I hope, we shall keep you here. 

Madame de la Marsignerie. 

An old friend of your mother, I claim a privi- 
lege. [She kisses him.'] 

Edmond. 
The Marquis de Mirvoisin. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Welcome — a hundred times welcome! Believe 



60 MARS DISARMED. 

me, my dear Vimont, you came none too soon to 
relieve the anxiety of Mademoiselle [he bows to 
Alixe], as well as that of a host of friends. 

Edmond. 

Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle de 
Marot. 

[When Madeleine de Marot makes her ap- 
pearance and faces Vimont, a silent scene 
must take place — clear in its meaning and 
yet not over-demonstrative — wherein the 
emotions which sway them both are be- 
trayed.] 

Marot. 

You see we lose no time. Only yesterday did 
we hear of your arrival, and here we are to bid 
you welcome. 

ViMONT. 

[Embar7'assed.'] I thank you — I am pleased to 
see you. 

Madame de Marot. 

Yours was not the only household which re- 
joiced at your return. 

ViMONT. 

You are indeed kind, Madame. 

Madeleine. 
We are delighted to see you again, and 



MARS DISARMED. 61 

proud too, for you left us a Colonel and return a 
General. 

ViMONT. 

A General — alas! Mademoiselle — who is de- 
prived not only of the satisfaction of raising his 
hand against the enemy, but of raising to his 
lips the hand of one he . . . esteems. 

[Madeleine, confused, hesitates a moment, 
and then slowly raises her hand for him to 
kiss. BiRSON enters in time to witness this 
scene. He looks on, unobserved, from the 
rear of the terrace. Servants bring out 
chairs, tables, refreshments. A desultory 
conversation ensues — the ladies sitting 
around the tables — some of the gentlemen 
leaning over to talk to them. Now and 
then a ripple of laughter. M. de la Mar- 
SIGNERIE is speaking earnestly to Vimont. 
BiRSON takes Mirvoisin's arm and leads 
him aside. He whispers to him,. A moment 
later Mirvoisin approaches Madeleine and 
pays her special attention. Vimont is in- 
different to what M. de la Marsignerie is 
telling him. He watches Madeleine and 
Mirvoisin.] 

Fresney. 
[Approaching Vimont.] I need not tell you, 
my dear General, that the entire neighborhood 
has shared the anxiety of Mademoiselle Vimont 
on your account. First we thought the mails 
had miscarried or even, perhaps, been inter- 
cepted. Then we thought you were mortally 



62 MAES DISARMED. 

wounded; then we thought . . . well, in sub- 
stance, we did not know what to think. 

[At this point Madeleine drops her handker- 
chief. ViMONT rushes to pick it up and 
suddenly realizes his inability to do so. 
Awkward silence. Mirvoisin picks it up 
and hands it to Madeleine with a how. 
Edmond enters.'] 

Edmond. 

His Honor the Mayor of Marcy, accompanied 
by a delegation, expresses a desire to pay his 
respects. 

[ViMONT looks annoyed. He whispers to 
Alixe, who argues with him, and then 
makes a sign to Edmond to admit the party. 
Edmond goes out. The ladies keep up a 
lively chatter till Edmond reappears, fol- 
lowed by the Mayor — a corpulent, pompous 
individual, arrayed in the regalia of his 
office. He is accompanied by three prosper- 
ous villagers. All bow low to the General, 
and then to the assembled company. The 
latter, whenever they can do so unobserved, 
give evidence of the amusement afforded 
them by the opera-boiiffe appearance and 
performance of the Mayor.] 

The Mayor. 

\_Giving his address all due oratorical effect.] 
Mon General I We have come — I, the Mayor of 



MARS DISARMED. 63 

Marcy, and my three distinguished colleagues, 
Monsieur Rossignol, Monsieur Crespinet, and 
Monsieur Montjoli — whom I have the honor to 
introduce to you — [he ma Ices a sweeping gesture 
to the entire company, while his three colleagues 
how frequently and low] — to say that we claim 
the privilege to share with your family and 
friends the pleasure of seeing you once more in 
the peaceful valley of Marcy. No more, no 
doubt, will you hear the shouts of command, 
the martial music, the roar of cannon; but you 
will find compensation for these in the tender 
voices of loved ones, in the rustic music of field 
and forest, in the hum of industrial life, which, 
while far be it from me to deprecate the noble 
profession of the soldier, is, nevertheless, fully as 
essential to the welfare and glory of the nation. 
You have done your duty nobly — [ivith a pa- 
tronizing air] — be satisfied. You have attained 
high rank — step aside graciously, and leave open 
to others the road to promotion. I could, as 
Mayor of this flourishing commune, dwell length- 
ily, and with some authority, upon the charms, 
also the responsibilities, of civic life, as compared 
with military life; but I shall refrain and reserve 
my observations for a future, and more suit- 
able, occasion. -Before concluding, however, 
permit me, my dear General — speaking for my- 
self, as well as for the commune I have the 
honor to preside over — to say that the joy we ex- 
perience at your return is only equaled by the 
regret we felt when you left us to follow the path 
of glory in distant lands. Many years have 



64 MARS DISARMED. 

elapsed since then; you have served your Em- 
peror and your country with distinction; your 
fame has preceded you, and the valor of your 
deeds has become a household word in the 
cottages as well as in the manor-houses of the 
valley of Marcy. Having accomplished so 
much, you have earned a rest. Whatever the 
love of your family and the respect and esteem 
of your neighbors can do to make that rest 
agreeable — Otium cum dignitate — will, I am sure, 
be done. Once more I bid you welcome. May 
good health and prosperity always attend you 
and yours. Long live the Emperor! Long live 
the brave General Vimont! 

[The Mayor uses his handkerchief freely to 
wipe the perspiration from his hrow.'\ 

ViMONT. 

I thank you, Monsieur le Maire, and Messieurs 
your colleagues, for your friendly visit and the 
kind sentiments you have expressed. As much 
as I regret my enforced retirement from active 
service in the army, I find pleasure and comfort 
in the hearty welcome home of friends and 
neighbors. Once more I thank you. [The Mayor 
and his colleagues hoiv low and are about to with- 
draw, when Vimont, after a moments hesitation, 
addresses them^ Will you not do us the honor 
to join our party and partake of some refresh- 
ments ? 

The Mayor. 

[After consulting his colleagues by glances."] 



3fARS DISARMED. 65 

The honor, I assure you, General, is all on our 

side. 

[They join the ladies — partaJce of refresh- 
ments — pay extravagant compliments — make 
extraordinary breaches of etiquette. Their 
manners and speech stand out in hold con- 
trast with those of the other guests. Some 
shepherds and a shepherdess, in holiday at- 
tire, and with rustic instruments, appear at 
the foot of the terrace. They play, sing, and 
dance. These gone, Madeleine turns to 

ViMONT.] 

Madeleine. 

I remember. General, your description of the 
battle of Austerlitz, and oh! how interesting it 
was. Will you not tell us something of the 
great battle of Friedland? 

ViMONT. 

If it will interest you, Mademoiselle, I shall do 
so with pleasure. 

[While the ladies remain seated in groups, the 
men form a semi-circle around Vimont, and 
assume an expectant attitude. To his right 
is old M. DE LA Marsignerie. To the 
extreme Uft. of the semi-circle is Mirvoisin. 
Next to the latter is Fresney. Vimont com- 
mences his narrative in a rather languid 
tone, hut waxes excited as he recalls and 
describes the picture, the action, of the battle. 
He uses his feet to indicate the position of 
the two armies.] 



66 MARS DISARMED. 

It was the fourteenth of June — the anniversary 
of Marengo. A good omen! . . . The Tsar seemed 
anxious for an opportunity to redeem the defeat 
of Eylau; the Emperor, no less anxious to add 
another to the Ust of his glorious victories. 
The inactivity which the past season had im- 
posed upon the contending armies made us all 
eager for an encounter. The river Alle runs thus. 
[Drawing a line with the point of his hoot.~\ The 
Russians were there. [Pointing with his foot.'] 
We here. [Same movement.'] Contrary to expecta- 
tions, Benningsen — obviously changing his plans 
— crossed the Alle and encountered the corps of 
Lannes here [poiiiting with his foot] on the left 
bank of the river. A fierce engagement followed, 
during which Oudinot and his grenadiers per- 
formed wonders of valor — never to be equaled, 
never to be forgotten. Although the entire Rus- 
sian forces were massed against him, Lannes — 
tenacious hero that he is! — held his position 
bravely. Attack upon attack was met, withstood, 
repulsed. Yet the fate of the day still hung in 
the balance, and it seemed impossible for our ex- 
hausted columns to stand much longer the fierce 
and ever-recurring onslaught of the enemy, when, 
suddenly, midst the shouts and huzzahs of the 
soldiers, the Emperor and his staff galloped on to 
the battlefield. What a sight! a sight which no 
mortal tongue can describe — a sight which might 
have brought envy to the god of war himself! 
In a moment the scene changed. The presence 
of the chief gave new hope, renewed courage, to 
all. The weak grew stronger; the hesitating 



MARS DISARMED. 67 

waxed determined; even the wounded raised their 
heads, and seemed to breathe more freely, more 
hopefully, as their eyes followed the figure on the 
white charger against the darkening horizon . . . 
Under orders from the Emperor, Ney made a 
bold, a wild, dash upon Friedland. The battery 
of Posthenau thundered — it sounded like the 
crumbling of the heavens. Brave men were fall- 
ing fast around us — friends, companions of cam- 
paigns of old — yet on we marched where the 
Emperor had bid us march, protected by the ar- 
tillery of Victor and assisted by the cavalry of 
Latour-Marbourg, till, at last, we came face to face 
with the Imperial Russian Guard. What a 
charge! What a resistance! What valor! What 
slaughter! The Russians fought like lions — 'twas 
the courage of despair — and for a moment, terrible 
moment! it looked as though we should be com- 
pelled to fall back, when Dupont's division, arriv- 
ing in the nick of time, broke through the Rus- 
sian lines. With the certainty of victory in our 
hearts, and with shouts of " Long live the Em- 
peror! " we rushed into the burning ruins of Fried- 
land. Night was upon us, and yet the fight con- 
tinued. The wild cries of the soldiers and the 
moaning of the wounded mingled with the tramp- 
ing of the horses and the roar of the cannon. 
The heavens were illuminated by the fierce con- 
flagration of buildings and bridges. Everywhere 
could be seen, resplendent and advancing, the 
victorious Imperial Eagles . . . The Russians 
were in full retreat; my regiment was following 
in close pursuit, when suddenly . . . 



68 MARS DISARMED. 

[At this moment Vimont's eyes fell upon Mir- 
voisiN, whose attention had been called by 
Fresney to the intensity of expression of old 
M. DE LA Marsignerie, whose interest in 
the narrative had been worked up to the 
highest pitch. This caused Mirvoisin to 
make an effort to suppress laughter, and Vi- 
MONT, taking this to refer to himself, brings 
his narrative to an abrupt ending.'] 

Several Voices. 
Continue, General — continue. 

ViMONT. 

[Looking fiercely at Mirvoisin.] No! . . . [A 
pause.] I should have known better than ever 
to have commenced ... I should have known 
that an armless man could not describe the ac- 
tion of a battle without exposing himself to ridi- 
cule. 

Mirvoisin. 

Pardon me, General; my laughter was insti- 
gated in no way either by your action or by your 
narrative. 

ViMONT. 

Indeed! . . . We happen to know for what 
purpose excuses were made. It is not my first ex- 
perience. Under my own roof, however, I 
expected . . . 

The Mayor. 

[Rushing up to Vimont and then to Mirvoisin.] 



3fARS DISARMED. 69 

Permit me in my official capacity . . . Permit 
me to use my influence . . . Permit me to give 
my views . . . Permit me . . . 

[No one pays attention to him. There is con- 
fusion amongst the guests. Some of them 
surround Vimont and attempt to explain 
matters to him in undertones. He seems 
indisposed to listen. Others ( Alixe amongst 
the number) surround Mirvoisin and beg 
him not to leave. Vimont, disregarding all 
explanations^ casts an angry glance at Mir- 
voisin and moves towards the chateau. BiR- 
SON, from his corner, seems to have scored a 
victory. '\ 



END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



THE THIRD ACT. 

THE CHALLENGE. 

Time: Evening of Third Day. 

Library, as in first act, lighted. The antique arm- 
chair relegated to a corner. AudrE, the Gen- 
eral's orderly, is standing erect near the door. 
A servant — a stupid-looking fellow — enters 
with a bundle of mail. He seems frightened 
at the rigid, immovable form of the orderly. 
He looks inquiringly at the latter to ascertain 
where he is to deposit the bundle he is carrying 
cautiously before him. 

Servant. 

[Standing before the table.l Here? \_Orderly 
gives no answer^ Where? 

Orderly. 
[Jn a, stentorian voice^ There! 

[Servant, frightened, drops the mail on the 
table, and looking one way — at the orderly — 
moves the other way — to the door. Vimont, 
in a loose, long garment, like a morning 
robe, enters. The orderly salutes him. He 
approaches the table and sees the mail.] 

70 



MARS DISARMED. 71 

ViMONT. 

Where is Monsieur de Birson? 

Orderly. 
I do not know, General. 

ViMONT. 

{_MuUeTing .'] A pity a good man like Birson 
should be uncle to a laughing idiot like Mirvoi- 
sin . . . [He glances at the bundle of mail on the 
table — shrugs his shoulders — sits down and gazes 
at the floor. While in this attitude he is taken 
with a coughing fit.'] Audre, my tonic. [Orderly 
goes to the closet, fills a glass and brings it to the 
General, holding it up to his mouth.] No, Audre, 
that, at least, is something I can do without my 
hands. Place it on the table. [Orderly places 
the glass on the edge of the table and resumes his 
place near the door. Vimont, sitting down, takes a 
sip, then walks silently across the room; returns 
and takes another sip. In his endeavor to empty 
the glass, it falls to the floor with a crash.] An- 
other disabled, useless thing in this world! 

[ViMONT stamps his foot and leaves the room. 
Orderly gets on his knees to pick up the 
broken pieces. While in that attitude, Bir- 
son enters.] 

Birson. 
At your evening devotions, Audre? 

Orderly. 
Devotions — no! The General's tonic . . . 



72 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

The General's tonic! [Aside.] Malum omen! 
[He goes to the table; looks anxiously over the letters; 
takes one in his hand and mutters, "Still un- 
opened." He is reading the Moniteur when Vimont 
enters^ General, I hope you feel rested after this 
quiet day. 

Vimont. 

As rested, I presume, as a man destined to 
eternal restlessness can ever expect to be . . . 
[He makes a sign to orderly to leave the room^ Ah, 
Birson, this is a rude awakening from a life-long 
dream! What a vista lies before me; what a 
prospect to contemplate:* but one life, and that 
life blasted! 

BiRSON. 

But, General, do you not believe . . . 

Vimont. 

[With emphasis.] I believe what I see, what I 
know . . . What, to me, are vaporous imagin- 
ings of things above, of things unseen, unknown, 
when confronted with such realities as now con- 
front me? Oh, Birson — I am weary of plati- 
tudes . . . Some thousand years ago, I'm told, 
there lived one Belisarius, who, having long 
served the state and brought laurels to his 
Emperor, lost both eyes; wherefore I, living 
some ten centuries later, and having, in the ser- 
vice of my country and my Emperor, lost both 
arms, have less cause to complain than Belisa- 



MARS DISARMED. 73 

rius. They bid me compare, and go my way re- 
joicing. Compare the living with the dead! 
What are eyes to Behsarius, he moldering in the 
grave? I live — I live— armless, useless — envy- 
ing Behsarius his fate. Life is a burden, yet 
death is denied me. I cannot point a pistol to 
my brains; I cannot bring poison to my lips; 
hang — I cannot; drown— some peering fool would 
rescue me, with a reward in view. Go forth and 
live; be merry, they say; look for something to 
distract, to amuse you . . . Where? . . . What? 

[He falls in a seat and gazes vacantly before 
him.'] 

BiRSON. 

Believe me. General, you take an unjustifiable 
view of your condition; and furthermore, I am 
convinced it will prove ephemeral. When you 
are more rested, you will feel more cheerful. 

ViMONT. 

[Indifferently.] Maybe— but I doubt it. 

BiRSON. 

I had proposed. General, giving you an account 
of what transpired during your absence — a syn- 
opsis, so to speak, of your affairs. 

ViMONT. 

[Languidly.] Proceed, Birson — that as well as 
anything else. 



74 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

[With a satisfied air.'] In the first place, I 
think it will cause you a lively satisfaction to 
hear that I have succeeded in finding a purchaser 
for " Noitiers," which you were anxious to dis- 
pose of. [BiRSON pauses. Vimont nods his head 
unconcernedly.] I have invested one hundred 
and sixty thousand francs in rentes. [Birson 
pauses. ViMONT nods his head.] Should your 
revenue and expenditures continue at the same 
ratio for the next ten or fifteen years, you will be 
one of the richest men in the department. 

ViMONT. 

[Meditatively.] Yes, Birson, yes . . . but of 
what avail will it be to me? What can I do 
with great wealth? 

Birson. 

Great wealth is great power. Of what avail 
would be the genius, even of a Napoleon, unless 
he had the wealth of France to back him? 

ViMONT. 

The Emperor has the use of all his faculties — 
all his members — whereas I . . . 

Birson. 

You, General, might lose both legs as well as 
both arms, and, for that matter, both eyes too, 
provided you had millions at your command 



MARS DISARMED. 75 

you would be a power in the land. Money — 
money is king! It is money which maintains 
armies; it is money which builds navies; it is 
money which erects palaces; it is money which 
gives position; yes, and it is money which, in 
many cases, attracts love . . . 

ViMONT. 

[Startled, as though a revelation had been made 
to him.'] Love! Think you so, Birson? 

BiRSON. 

I am convinced of it. 

ViMONT. 

Even in my case? 

Birson. 

Ah, General, it is obvious you are more famil- 
iar with the tactics of Mars than with those of 
Venus. Yours, from early youth, has been the 
tented field, and not the field of gallantry. 

ViMONT. 

In either field a man who is armless is dis- 
abled. 

Birson. 

If riches cover a multitude of sins, they should 
have little difficulty covering the absence of 
arms . . . 



76 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

I have seen but one woman with whom I should 
wish to spend my life . . . and she, I fear, would 
not care to marry me now. A disarmed soldier 
falling into the arms of love! . . . Caressing love, 
armless — what a parody! [He makes an impa- 
tient movement, and then as though to change the 
subject.'] Birson, oblige me by looking over these 
letters. 

Birson. 

[Opening a letter and leading.] " My dear Gen- 
eral, how can I convey to you the expression of 
my deep regret and sympathy ". . . 

ViMONT. 

[Impatiently.] That will do. Try another. 

BiRSON. 

[Opening a second letter and reading.] " My 
dear General, allow me to assure you that it was 
with profound emotion "... 

ViMONT. 

Enough — enough! Expressions and emotions 
will never restore my arms . . . 

[Edmond enters and holds a card before the 
General.] 

ViMONT. 

[Reading the card.] Monsieur Clement . . . 
I do not know him. 



MARS DISARMED. 77 

Edmond. 

He begged me to say he was an agent of his 
Excellency the Minister of Police, and wished to 
see the General privately. 



ViMONT. 

Show him in. 

[BiRSON goes out. Edmond ushers in M. 
Clement — a mysterious-looking man.~\ 

Clement. 
[^Looking around.] We are alone? 

Vimont. 
Alone. 

Clement. 

I am informed you have under your roof a 
plotter against the government. 

ViMONT. 

Indeed! His name? 

Clement. 
Monsieur de Birson. 

Vimont. 
And who is your informant? 



78 MARS DISARMED. 

Clement. 

One Armand — until recently employed in your 
household. 

ViMONT. 

I do not know for what reason Armand was 
discharged, but I am convinced that his discharge 
by Monsieur de Birson is the cause of the pres- 
ent complaint. Monsieur de Birson is no plotter; 
he is my faithful secretary. His father and mine 
were friends. It was the memory of this friend- 
ship which induced me to give Monsieur de Bir- 
son, who was rendered penniless by the Revo- 
lution, a position in my household. He fills this 
position to my satisfaction. Tell you chief that 
I stand as surety for Monsieur de Birson. 

Clement. 

Personally I am satisfied with your explana- 
tion, which shall be duly reported to headquar- 
ters. Good day, General. 

ViMONT. 

Good day. [Clement goes out. Vimont calls 
Birson, who resumes his seat at the table and looks 
over the letters.'] Why was Armand discharged ? 

Birson. 
For insolence. 

ViMONT. 

To whom? 



MARS DISARMED. 79 

BiRSON. 

To myself. 

ViMONT. 

You did well . . . You were reading a letter. 

BiRSON. 

Yes. [He picks up an open letter.'] Ah, yes — 
from Jamont. [He reads.'] " It seems years since 
the last campaign, but the success of the Emperor 
is destined to awaken the jealousy of the powers. 
They will combine and attack him, in the hope of 
recovering what they have lost — and will lose 
still more" . . . 

ViMONT. 

[Interrupti7ig .] Jamont is not only a good sol- 
dier, but a good prophet . . . From whom is that 
letter near your hand ? 

BiRSON. 

[Opening envelope and glancing over letter^ 
Here, indeed, is a strange letter. [^Reads^ '' Wel- 
come home, iDrave soldier, to the peaceful home 
of your childhood, though peaceful to you I fear 
it will never prove hereafter. As a warrior you 
had no rival; as a lover you have a dangerous 
one. Beware of him. He will burden you with 
professions of friendship; but the same melliflu- 
ous tones which dwell on amity for you breathe, 
the next moment, passion for one you love. He 
had his doubts, but now that you are disarmed, 



80 MARS DISARMED. 

he is confident of victory, and proclaims you hors 
de combat in more ways than one. Have an eye 
on him, and, before too late, regain the ground 
you have lost through absence. A Friend." 

ViMONT. 

It is as I expected — as was inevitable. 

BiRSON. 

[Perplexed.] What can this mean ? 

ViMONT. 

Mean ? [He hesitates a moment.'] You are an 
old friend, Birson, and I may safely unbosom 
myself to you. This letter means that the last 
thread which held me to earth is snapped. 

Birson. 
I do not understand. 

ViMONT. 

You know Mademoiselle de Marot ? 

Birson. 

Yes — she was here yesterday — a marvel of 
grace and beauty. 

ViMONT. 

[Muttering.] Madeleine . . . Madeleine . . . 
[Then turning to Birson.] I knew her, Birson, 



MARS DISARMED. 81 

when she was a child— a sweet, loving child. I 
watched her grow and develop into maidenhood. 
I was present on the occasion — the eventful occa- 
sion — when, casting aside her girlish dress, she 
donned woman's attire. Ah! well do I remem- 
ber the night— the night of her first ball. How 
proud I was to lead her to the dance — a hundred 
envious eyes following me. These were sweet 
memories, Birson, which cheered me during weary 
marches in the cold northern climes; which 
haunted me in the stillness of the night, when 
the camp was asleep; yes, and flashed across my 
mind, anon and again, in the heat of battle . . . 
There is no soldier, Birson, however fierce he be, 
who has not in him some bit of sentiment. That 
was mine, and I have been robbed of it. 

Birson. 
Ah! I begin to understand ... I perceive a 
clue. 

ViMONT. 

A clue to what ? 

Birson. 
To something I overheard last night. 

ViMONT. 

And what was that ? 

Birson. 

[Hesitating.] On reflection, it is not worth re- 
peating — an idle yarn, no doubt. 



82 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

An idle yarn which may interest me . . . 

BiRSON. 

Which may afflict you. 

ViMONT. 

One affliction more or less, after the many I 
have suffered, signifies little. To the point, 
Birson. 

BiRSON. 

But, General, I am convinced it was not uttered 
seriously — a yarn, believe me, nothing more. 

ViMONT. 

[With authority.'] Let us admit it to be a yarn 
and nothing more, and relate it to me. 

[Interest should he given to the following scene 
by the contrast between the calm, deliberate 
manner of Birson and the excited, passion- 
ate manner of Vimont.] 



But, General 
Speak. 



Birson. 



Vimont. 



Birson. 
Since you command, I shall obey, and relate 
what I heard, word for word. 



MARS DISARMED. 83 

ViMONT. 

Word for word. 

BiRSON. 

^Yell— I was alone in a room adjoining one 
where several gentlemen were drinking and con- 
versing. The door was partly open. I paid 
little attention to what was said till I heard 
yonr name mentioned, and, being interested in 
all that concerns you, I hstened . . . 

[He hesitates.'] 

ViMONT. 

Proceed. 

BiRSON. 

First promise me, General, that no matter 
what comes of this, you will never repeat it to 
mortal soul— never mention my name in con- 
nection with it. 

ViMONT. 

On my word, as a soldier. 

BiRSON. 

This is what I overheard: " Vimont marry! 
What can one conceive more ludicrous? An 
innocent bride— an armless man ! Vimont, who 
has studied strategy, should understand this." 

Vimont. 
Were those his words? 



84 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

His very words. 

ViMONT. 

And what else, pray? 

BiRSON. 

"Why — he would require a nurse — a nurse to 
bathe him — a nurse to dress him — a nurse 
to feed him — a nurse to ... to do everything 
for him," and then laughing: " The idea of 
starting married life with a nurse!" 

ViMONT. 

The miserable cur! He shall pay dearly for 
his insolence. Who is the man, Birson, who 
dared speak of me thus? 

BiRSON. . 

I beg of you. General, for your sake and mine, 
do not insist. 

ViMONT. 

I must know. Speak! 

BiRSON. . 

Alas! I have already spoken too much. I 
cannot mention his name. 

ViMONT. 

I insist. If you have my interest at heart, 
you will not hesitate. 



MARS DISARMED. 85 

BiRSON. 

My interest in you has, I fear, betrayed the 
interest I have in one who is, or was, dear to me. 

ViMONT. 

[Looking earnestly at Birson.] Can it be Mir- 
voisin? [BiRSON is silent.] Is it Mirvoisin? 
[Birson hangs his head.] It is Mirvoisin! . . . 
Oh! how clear it all appears to me now. That 
prearranged meeting on the terrace — those whis- 
perings in the corner— those exchanges of mys- 
terious glances— and finally the open insult; 
mocking me in my own house! . . . and this let- 
ter. [Looking at the open letter.] He shall make 
amends for this. I will . . . [He stops suddenly, 
hesitates, and then with a painful expression on his 
face, and a sadness in his voice.] But, Birson, 
what can I do? What shall I do? ... I can- 
not strike him ... I cannot challenge him 
. . . Oh, what a helpless wretch I am! What 
right have I to live, if I must live and be 
mocked with impunity; if I need must face an 
insolent cur, and yet not be able to strike him ? 
[Appealingly.] Surely, Birson, some means can 
be devised — some means must be devised — to 
chastise such as he. 

Birson. 

It is an unfortunate, a provoking, a perplexing 
case ... 

ViMONT. 

Here I stand, grievously offended, and yet un- 



86 MARS DISARMED. 

able to secure amends, to inflict punishment. I 
am denied even that satisfaction which is ac- 
corded a woman — a duel by proxy. Who, on 
this broad earth, would offer to fight for me — to 
defend my honor — to avenge this insult? On 
whom have I sufficient claim to ask that he risk 
his life in my behalf? 

BiRSON. 

[Meditatively. His chin resting on his hand.'] 
Perplexing . . . perplexing . . . You have no 
friend you could appeal to ? 

ViMONT. 

My friends are far away — in the army; those 
here are also friends of his — more so, perhaps, 
than mine. 

BiRSON. 

[Still meditatively.'] Let me see . . . Let me 
see . . . Ah! I have an idea — while fighting by 
proxy may be out of the question in your case, 
shaking dice by proxy is not necessarily so. 

ViMONT. 

[Eagerly.] And the loser blows out his brains ! 

BiRSON. 

Precisely — provided the loser be not yourself. 

ViMONT. 

In which eventuality poison will do the work. 



MARS DISARMEB. 87 

Birson, this must be settled without delay. Send 
at once to Maupert and Beaumont and tell them 
I wish to see them — the sooner, the better. 

BiRSON. 

Reflect, General. Supposing the dice should 
turn against you? 

ViMONT. 

That is not the point. I am determined — go. 
[BiRSON withdraws, and returns instantly^l What 
is it? 

BiRSON. 

The seconds will wish to know the cause of 
the challenge. 

ViMONT. 

Well — is not the cause sufficient? 

BiRSON. 

Amply so — but how can you name the cause 
without naming me? 

ViMONT. 

Why not name you? 

Birson. 
You gave me your word, General — your word 
as a soldier. 

ViMONT. 

True — I did. A soldier must keep his word; 
I shall keep mine. But, Birson, a cause for the 



88 MARS DISARMED. 

challenge — a cause must be found . . . the 
letter? 

BiRSON. 

The letter bears no name; it mentions no name. 

ViMONT. 

And his insult on the terrace, when he laughed 
in my face? 

BiRSON. 

That might be deemed insufficient cause. 

ViMONT. 

But what if / deem it sufficient cause? 



BiRSON. 

The seconds might disagree on that point. 

ViMONT. 

I shall give them no opportunity to disagree. 
They may think what they wish of his action — 
so may I — and I propose to resent it. I shall 
crowd him, trip him, heap insult upon him, and 
thus compel him to challenge me. 

BiRSON. 

Ah — there indeed you would have him cor- 
nered. 

ViMONT. 

Yes, cornered, and no escape. Go, Birson, let 



MARS DISARMED. 89 

no time be lost. Send word to Beanmont and 
Maupert, while I seek Mirvoisin. 

[BiRSON goes out hy one door. Vimont is 
about to leave hy another, when he meets 
Alixe entering.'] 

Vimont. 
[Astonished.] Alixe! 

Alixe. 

[Joyously.] Eugene, I am here to tell you of a 
dehghtful plan I have formed for to-morrow. 
Lestrange has been in the tower and consulted 
the heavens. He has scanned the horizon; he 
has studied the four points of the compass, and 
he predicts for to-morrow a sun of Austerlitz. 
We are to drive to the old castle near Moisart; 
we shall lunch under the trees, and linger there 
till twilight. 

Vimont. 

I trust Lestrange has made no blunder. 

Alixe. 

He is not infalhble, and yet he seldom errs 
. . . You will accompany us, will you not, Eu- 
gene? 

Vimont. 

[After a momenfs hesitation.] No, Alixe; go 
without me — amuse yourselves. 



90 MARS DISARMED. 



Alixe. 



[With a disappointed air.'] But we will not go 
without you. The party is already made up. 
The Marsigneries are going — the Marcourts — • 
Eugenie de Vitoy — and [eyeing him without his 
perceiving it^ Madeleine de Marot — and [with 
hesitancy] Monsieur de Mirvoisin . . . [At the 
mention of the two last names together Vimont he- 
trays intense emotion.] What is it, Eugene? 

ViMONT. 

Nothing — only I shall not be of the party. 

Alixe. 

[Anxiously.] There is something the matter 
with you . . . [He is silent.] Tell me — what is 
it? [He continues silent.] I must know . . . 

ViMONT. 

You will know to-morrow. 

Alixe. 

[Seizing the lapel of his coat.] No — now, now! 

ViMONT. 

*If you must know, then listen: Monsieur de 
Mirvoisin shall be called to account for his . . . 
insulting manner. 

Alixe. 
What — yesterday on the terrace? Why, he 



MARS DISARMED. 91 

himself told me that he laughed at Monsieur de 
la Marsignerie, who was so excited at your de- 
scription of Friedland, that he thought his eyes 
would drop from his head. 

ViMONT. 

It is all very well for him to say that now, 
but I happen to know that his feelings towards 
me are far from being friendly. 

Alixe. 
[With emphasis.] I cannot believe he harbors 
aught against you. 

ViMONT. 

[With greater emphasis.'] You cannot — but I 
can. 

Alixe. 
Well, supposing he does, what will you do? 

ViMONT. 

Challenge him, 

Alixe. 
[Amazed.] Challenge him! But how will you 
fight? 

ViMONT. 

The dice will decide our fate. 

Alixe. 
[Collapsing.] And mine! [She checks herself 
— pauses — approaches Vimont.] Eugene, do you 
know that Monsieur de Mirvoi&in . . . 



92 MARS DISARMED. 



ViMONT. 



[Interrupting.'] I know that Monsieur de Mir- 
voisin is an insolent cur, and he or I shall pay . . . 
[Alixe, as though stunned, brings her hands to her 
temples, reels, and falls in a chair. Vimont kneels 
at her side, calls her by name, kisses her hand. She 
makes a vain movement to loosen her robe at the 
neck, and gasps, "Air, air." Vimont rushes to the 
window, and on realizing that he cannot open it, 
assumes a despairing attitude. Then he leans 
against the window with all his weight, and this 
proving futile, he batters it with his shoulder till it 
falls with a crash. Several of the servants, hearing 
the crashing of the window, appear at the various 
doorways. Vimont turns fiercely towards them."] 
What are you doing here? Who called you? 
Who needs you? I am not quite as weak as a 
crawling infant, or as helpless as a palsied octo- 
generian. When I require your assistance I 
shall cause you to be notified. [Servants go out. 
Alixe recovers slowly. Vimont stands at her side, 
looking at her anxiously. Then he speaks in a low, 
affectionate voice.~\ I am sorry I caused you pain 
... I did not mean to . . . Forgive me, Alixe 
. . . You know my affection for you . . . Come, 
be yourself again . . . Embrace me with those 
fond arms of yours . . . 

[She rises and embraces him.] 



Alixe. 
Promise me, Eugene . . . 



[Edmond enters.] 



3IARS DISARMED. 93 

Edmond. 
General, a messenger from Paris wishes to see 
you alone. 

[ViMONT goes out, followed by Edmond. Alixe 
alone, seated in a chair; her hands clasped; 
her eyes fixed steadily before her.^ 

Alixe. 

My joy was too great ... It could not last 
. . . [Her face lights up.] If I were to tell him? 
. . . [Despairingly.'] He would remind me of 
my promise; he would accuse me of loving his 
enemy. [Birson enters. Alixe rises and goes forth 
to meet him.] Monsieur de Birson, lend me your 
hand, for mine is chained, powerless; lend me 
your mind, for mine is clouded, confused. 

Birson. 

My hand, my mind, are yours. Mademoiselle, 
. . . [he approaches her and half whispers] like- 
wise my heart. 

Alixe. 

[Drawing bach with suppressed emotion.] I ap- 
pealed to you, as a friend, for assistance, and 
you compel me to withdraw my appeal. 

Birson. 
[Kneeling.] On bended knee, I beg you . . . 

Alixe. 
[In despair.] Spare me! 



94 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

\_Rising,~\ Pardon me, Mademoiselle, for as- 
suming to . . . [Alixe rushes from the room. He 
bows to the door, which closes in his face.^ The 
fair Amarinta and the faithful Luigi are not on 
encouraging terms . . . Ugh! Failure to-day 
may mean success to-morrow. [He meditates.] 
She would have me stop this duel . . . [Pause.] 
Stop this duel — why? It might serve her pur- 
pose, not mine . . . [Pause.] Stop the duel — 
why? Whoever loses, I win. If Mirvoisin, he 
will be well out of the way; if Vimont, would she 
dare marry Mirvoisin, who caused her brother's 
death? [Triumphantly.] Let the duel proceed! 

[Vimont enters.] 

ViMONT. 

I am called to Paris, but I shall not leave till 
I have settled matters with Mirvoisin. 



BiRSON. 

[Affecting despondency.] General, I wish I had 
not spoken. 

Vimont. 

Speaking as you did was rendering me a ser- 
vice; and while I think of it, Birson — who knows 
what may happen? — I wish to make an altera- 
tion in my will . . . You will find in the left 
upper drawer of my desk a bunch of keys. Bring 
them here. [Birson goes out. He returns with 
the keys.] Remove that cabinet. [Indicating a 



MARS DISARMED. 95 

piece of furniture against the wall, which Birson 
moves with difficulty, Vimont assisting with his 
shoulder.'] Take the large key and open that 
door. [A door concealed behind the cabinet.] Take 
out the strong box to the right . . . Open it. 
The key? Let me see . . . [Birson holds up each 
key in turn.] That one . . . [Birson opens box.] 
You will find a sealed envelope marked "Last 
Testament." 

[Birson, on his knees, looks carefully over the 
papers and objects in the strong box. 
While doing this he lays hand on a mini- 
ature of Madeleine. Still kneeling before 
the box, he holds the miniature up to the light 
and contemplates it earnestly. Vimont, em- 
barrassed, watches him from the rear.] 

Birson. 

[With uncertainty.] This looks like Mademoi- 
selle . . . de Marot. 

Vimont. 

[With emotio7i.] It is Mademoiselle de Marot. 

Birson. 
[Deliberately.] Shall I replace it in the box? 

Vimont. 

No — give it to me. [Birson, absent-minded, 
and looking in the box, stretches his hand, which 
holds the miniature, towards Vimont. The latter 



96 MARS DISARMED. 

looks distressed as he realizes he cannot take it^ 
Birpon, place it on the mantel. [Birson rises 
and moves slowly towards the mantel, where he 
places the miniature, Vimont following him with 
his eyes. Birson returns to the box, before which 
he kneels, and continues the search of the will. He 
examines a number of papers, and finally holds up 
a large envelope to Vimont.] Yes — that is it. I'll 
dictate my wishes, which you will convey to 
Monsieur Corvin, my notary, and ask him to in- 
corporate them in my will, in due legal form. 
[Birson sits at the table, prepared to write. Vi- 
mont walks the floor nervously and then stops to 
dictate.'] I bequeath to Jean Gabriel Antoine — 
son of my father's old friend, the Count de Bir- 
son — as a token of my appreciation of his con- 
stant and faithful services, my signet ring and 
the sum of ... [a pause] one hundred thousand 
francs . . . 

Birson. 
But, General . . . 

Vimont. 

We shall not discuss the question now. Go, 
Birson — see that those matters which press are 
attended to. [Birson, with a resigned air, with- 
draws. Vimont, alone, stands for a moment, gaz- 
ing at the floor. Then he raises his eyes and fixes 
them on the miniature of Madeleine. He ap- 
proaches nearer and nearer to the mantel, till he 
stands close to the miniature, on which his eyes re- 
main riveted. He speaks tenderly at first.] Yes 



MARS DISARMED. 97 

— you are beautiful . . . but beauty, like all else 
in life, will fade . . . youth and grace will dis- 
appear . . . Your body, which I once deemed 
sweet, will be cold and lifeless ... a feast for 
worms . . . [^His voiee vibrates with passion..^ 
That will be . . . that must be . . . but now — 
now! it is arms you crave for . . . arms to em- 
brace you . . . arms to encircle your waist . . . 
arms . . . arms . . . You shall have them . . . 
[with emphasis] perhaps . . . [With bitterness.'] 
But they will weary of you, these arms — it is so 
written — and seek elsewhere. Your dream of 
happiness will vanish ... as did my dream of 
happiness . . . You will, as I do, know loneli- 
ness. Then — yes, then — you will think of the 
days of old, which now you have forgotten — but 
too late — too late! Go from my thoughts, my 
life; go to that other's arms . . . arms . . . 
arms . . . 

[He makes an impulsive movement with his 
head to dash the miniature from the mantel. 
He fails. He makes a second attempt. He 
fails again. He looks around the room, as 
though seeking assistance. He tries once 
more, and the miniature falls to the floor. 
He is in the act of raising his foot to crush it, 
when the door opens and Edmond enters.] 

Edmond. 

The Marquis de Mirvoisin wishes to see the 
General. 



98 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Astonished.'] The Marquis de Mirvoisin! 
l^Pause.'] I'll see the Marquis. 

[Edmond goes out. Vimont faces the door, at 
a distance. A moment later the door is 
opened by Edmond, who withdraws immedi- 
ately. Mirvoisin enters briskly and ad- 
vances towards Vimont, with a smile on his 
lips, but, on perceiving the menacing attitude 
of Vimont, he stops short, and for a few 
seconds the two men, erect, with heads throivn 
bach, gaze at each other silently. Determi- 
nation is on the face of Vimont; uncertainty 
on that of Mirvoisin.] 

Mirvoisin. 

General, I have come ... [a pausel I intended 
coming ... to see you, to explain the little in- 
cident of the terrace. 

Vimont. 

Indeed! Well, I beg to assure you, sir, that 
you will have difficulty — great difficulty — ex- 
plaining what you are pleased to call the little 
incident of the terrace. 

Mirvoisin. 

\_Assuming the haughty demeanor of Vimont.] 
Your manner takes me by surprise. General. I 
fail to understand what you mean. 



MARS DISARMED. 



99 



ViMONT. 

[Moving towards Mirvoisin.] I'll tell you 
what I mean — you are a miserable cur — and not 
having a hand with which to slap your face, take 
that— [He spits in his face. Mirvoisin, with 
clenched fist, males a movement to strike Vimont— 
hut stops suddenly, maUng a visible effort to con- 
trol himself. A moment of silence, during which the 
two men stare angrily at each other^ 

Mirvoisin. 
I do not wish to be misunderstood. You have 
insulted me mortally. If I do not resent it, it is 
that I feel I have undue advantage over you. 

ViMONT. 

[With disdain:] Subterfuge! 

Mirvoisin. 

Subterfuge— no! My honor forbids my resent- 
ing the insult of an armless man, as it would for- 
bid my resenting that of a woman. 

Vimont. 
Oh, this is not the first time you have harped 
on my misfortune; but, let me inform you, sir- 
to relieve your delicate sense of honor, or any 
superfluous scrupulousness on your part— that 
though I am armless, and more defenseless than 
a woman, there is, unless you be an arrant 
coward, a means whereby you may obtain satis- 
faction for the insult I have offered you. 

LofC. 



100 MARS DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I shall welcome any means that may be sug- 
gested to avenge my honor, even though the 
suggestion come from him who has wronged me. 

ViMONT. 

Since, as you observed, you have undue advan- 
tage over me; since I cannot fight, nor induce 
anyone to fight for me — let dice decide our fate. 
Here, at least, I can secure a proxy; here we 
meet on equal ground. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So be it. 

ViMONT. 

Should you lose, you blow out your miserable 
brains; should I . . . poison will end my life. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So be it. 

ViMONT. 

This evening our seconds meet; to-morrow you 
and I meet. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So be it . . . Till then, General. [He hows 
low and withdraws.l 



END OF THE THIRD ACT. 



THE FOURTH ACT. 

THE DUEL. 

Time: Morning of Fourth Day. 

Large room in Mirvoisin's chateau. Ancesti-al 
pictures, armor, tapestries, etc. Mirvoisin 
and Sellier enter. 

Mirvoisin. 

This is the chamber — the chamber where, in 
years gone by, many similar affairs, but none so 
sad, have been discussed, arranged. But why, 
Sellier, was it decided that it should be held 
under my roof, not his? 

Sellier. 

Because under his own roof Vimont fears in- 
terruption, if not more serious interference in the 
matter. 

Mirvoisin. 

Ah, Sellier, how uncertain are human affairs 
— how ephemeral our prospects of happiness! 
Yesterda}^ I still indulged the dream that Alixe 
might be my bride, and Vimont my brother; 
to-day my dream has vanished — Vimont and I 
meet, not as brothers, but as enemies. 

- 101 



102 MARS DISARMED. 

Sellier. 

Yes, 'tis sad, Mirvoisin — and the sadder that I 
am convinced there is a misunderstanding. 

Mirvoisin. 

A misunderstanding beyond peradventure — 
but one which he will not admit of — will not 
even discuss. 

Sellier. 

He is bent on carrying out the programme, 
and dismisses all explanations as an effort to 
trick him into surrendering his position. 

Mirvoisin. 

And I — so long as he refuses an apology — am 
compelled to maintain my position. 

Sellier. 

Yes — there is no escape. He has created an 
impasse. He threatens — should you refuse to 
resent this insult — to repeat it, and repeat it, till 
you do. 

Mirvoisin. 

Is there — in this broad world — anything more 
difficult to deal with than sensitiveness such as 
his? Put me face to face with a tiger, and I 
should know what to do; with a madman; but 
with one of your . . . 



MARS DISARMED. 103 

Sellier. 

Never mind, Mirvoisin — calm yourself. Let 
us hope victory will be on your side. 

Mirvoisin. 

An unwelcome victory that which will make 
her, whom I love most, unhappy — nay, will 
cause us to remain strangers forever. 

\_A servant enters.'] 

Servant. 

There is a lady who insists on seeing Monsieur 
le Marquis. 

Mirvoisin. 
Her name? 

Servant. 
She refuses to give it, Monsieur le Marquis. 

Mirvoisin. 

Let the lady enter. [Servant goes out.] Who 
can my mysterious visitor be? Sellier, will you 
see that my pistols are in good order? [Sellier 
withdraws. Alixe, with cloak and hat to disguise 
her, enters. Mirvoisin hows, with an air of uncer- 
tainty.'] Whom have I the honor of saluting? 
[Alixe slowly casts aside her disguise.] Alixe! 
you here? 

Alixe. 

Yes, driven hither by despair — by hope. Oh, 
Roger, this meeting must be stopped. 



104 MARS DISARMED. 

MlBVOISIN. 

[Taking her hands.] You know, Alixe, that it 
pains me no less than it does yon. Have yon 
seen him ? 

Alixe. 

I have begged and implored on bended knee; 
he caresses, but will not answer me, and you — 
have you done nothing ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

All that lay in my power. I have done, in his 
case, what I should have done in the case of no 
other man. I have offered to apologize for the 
imaginary offense of which I am accused, pro- 
vided he apologize for the actual insult he prof- 
fered me. 

Alixe. 

And his answer was ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

That he would neither accept nor offer an 
apology. 

Alixe. 

And you will meet him ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Despairingly.'] What else can I do ? 

Alixe. 
Refuse to see him. 



MARS DISARMED. 105 

MiRVOISIN. 

He threatens, in that event, to heap insult 
upon insult till I be compelled to resent them. 

Alixe. 
Flee, then. 

MiRVOISIN. 

And leave behind that without which I could 
not live — my love and my honor. 

Alixe. 
Conceal yourself; assume indisposition. 

MiRVOISIN. 

To what purpose ? 

Alixe. 
The encounter would be avoided. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It would be but postponed. 

Alixe. 
I shall tell him we are betrothed. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It would aggravate his animosity, since you 
would thereby confess you had broken your pledge 
to him. 



106 MARS DISARMED. 

Alixe. 

What, then, am I to do ? I appeal to you in 
vain; I appeal to him in vain. Oh, heavens! 
was woman ever placed in such a plight — to 
have her heart torn in twain by her brother and 
her lover ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Takes her hand. After a 'pause ^ If you will 
make a sacrifice, Alixe, I shall. 

Alixe. 
What do you mean ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

I shall consider Vimont as having won, and 
pay the penalty of defeat. 

Alixe. 
[Clinging to him^ Never! 

MiRVOISIN. 

But should Vimont lose ? 

Alixe. 
He must not lose. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Yet one of us . . . 



MARS DISARMED. 107 

Alixe. 

No — neither of you . . . [Distractedly.'] Where 
do you meet ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Embarrassed.'] Where do we meet? Wher- 
ever Vimont decides. 

Alixe. 
And that is ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

You know how erratic he is. He has decided 
that the meeting shall take place; it is for him 
to decide where. 

Alixe. 

When is it to be ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Perplexed.] When? [Pause.] Ah, Alixe, ask 
m.e not what I cannot tell you. 

Alixe. 

[Looking at him appealingly and, for a moment, 
silently.] Then you will do nothing for me ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

I'll give my life for you. 



108 MARS DISARMED. 

Alixe. 
It would be taking mine. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I'll give . . . 

Alixe. 

You will give everything except that which I 
ask. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Reproachfully^ Alixe I 

Alixe. 

Instead of a wedding, it will be a funeral; in- 
stead of the bridal veil, I shall wear the veil of 
crape. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Alixe! 

Alixe. 

Let the dice perform their mournful task! 
Avenge your injured honor! Invoke chance — as 
surely as it will spare one of you, so surely will 
it strike me . . . 

[Alixe makes a rapid movement towards the 
door, hut is intercepted by Mirvoisin.] 

MiRVOISIN. 

Do not, I implore you, leave me thus. 



MARS DISARMED. 109 

Alixe. 
It is you who will it. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Far from it! It is a fate I would crush that 
wills it . . . But since we must part, Alixe, at 
least let us part as friends . . . Oh, how I re- 
member the endless days spent in sadness — sad- 
ness which sprung from doubt of your sentiments 
towards me. How I remember, Alixe, those 
short, happy hours— happy because doubt had 
vanished, and our hearts knew each other's 
secret. How I remember, Alixe, that supreme 
moment when, for the first time . . . 

[He presses her in his arms.'] 

Alixe. 

And I, too, remember — and my remembrance 
is sweeter than yours, since I would have those 
happy hours continue — whereas you . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

Alas! their memory embitters the prospect of 
losing them. 

Alixe. 
Listen, Roger; my love for Eugene is more in- 
tense than your hate of him. If I sacrifice the 
greater, you might sacrifice the lesser. I should 
rather incur his eternal resentment than follow 
his dear body to the grave; I should rather . . . 
[She checks herself and lowers her eyes.^ 



110 MARS DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

What is it, Alixe ? 

Alixe. 

[Hesitating.'] You force me to utter pleadings 
that should come from your lips. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Coming from yours, they will prove more irre- 
sistible. 

Alixe. 

[Betraying deep emotion.'] Will you leave this 
place if I leave it with you? [She seizes his 
hand.] Let us fly, Roger — let us fly to a land 
far away — from strife and from anger, to peace 
and to love . . . [She pauses.] You are silent 
. . . you hesitate . . . 

[She draws herself hack, assumes an injured 
look, then, with majestic dignity, moves to 
the door. He follows her, calling, "Alixe, 
Alixe" — hiU her manner forbids further in- 
terference. She glides silently out of the 
room. Sellier enters, carrying the box of 
dueling pistols. He places it on the table. 
MiRVOISIN opens the box, and with a calm — 
half-mocking, half-serious — look, takes one 
of the pistols in his hand, examines it, and 
tests the trigger.] 

Sellier. 
I have fulfilled the duty imposed on me. May 



MARS DISARMED. Ill 

these ['pointing to the pistols] not be called upon 
to perform theirs. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I ask myself whether, after all, Sellier, it is not 
as well to go this way as any other — now as well 
as later. The time must come, and in a hundred 
years . . . 

Sellier. 
To-morrow you will not speak thus. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[With a bitter smile.] Perhaps not. 

[A servant enters.] 

Servant. 

The Abbot of Narmontier. 

[MiRVOISIN makes an impatient movement. 
Sellier withdraws to one side and stands 
leaning against the back of a chair. The 
Abbot — a venerable man — enters.] 

Abbot. 

Benedicite — In nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritu 
Sancto. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Welcome, reverend father. To what good 
grace am I indebted for this unexpected visit ? 



112 MARS DISARMED. 

Abbot. 

It is the mission of the holy Church to main- 
tain peace amongst men. 

MiRVOISIN. 

The holy Church has a difficult mission at this 
moment, with Napoleon in the field. 

Abbot. 

The ways of Providence are manifold. Napo- 
leon serves as a means, and still more will he 
serve as a moral. Who breaks the peace shall, 
in his time, suffer defeat. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Meanwhile victory follows the martial eagles 

Abbot. 

Hush! History is of all time, and we see but 
the present . . . My son, it was not of Napoleon 
— may Heaven have mercy on his soul — but of 
yourself that I came to speak. 

MiRVOISIN. 

My services have not yet been called into 
requisition — I am still a man of peace. 

Abbot. 

[Approaching him with a mysterious air.^ You 
indulge, this day, in an unholy contest . . . 



MARS DISARMED. 113 

MiRVOISIN. 

Father . . . 

Abbot. 

I know all ... I come, in the name of the 
great Father above, and in the name of your 
honored sire, whose confidence and friendship in 
God I enjoyed to his last breath, to enjoin you 
from carrying out your nefarious purpose. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Perplexed!] How came you, holy father, who 
live within cloistered walls, to learn of unholy 
worldly doings? 

Abbot. 

The Lord is almighty, and where his own glory 
and man's welfare are concerned, he spares not 
his might. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Well, father, your time, I know, is precious; 
and mine, I fear, is short. [He looks at the clock.] 
1 shall be brief and frank. Your informant, 
whether voice of earth or spirit of heaven, is well 
informed. I am about to engago in an unholy 
and, I do sincerely believe, a most unjustifiable 
contest; you are not more anxious than I, my- 
self , to prevent it — butitlay not in our power . . . 

Abbot. 
Heaven above . . . 



114 MARS DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

You speak of heaven ... I bow my head — 
not only heaven above, but heaven on earth itself, 
was risked by me, when I picked up the glove 
that was cast defiantly at my feet. It was not of 
my doing, father, nor is it subject to my undo- 
ing. It was forced upon me, and however I ab- 
hor it, being in it, I shall see it to the end. 

Abbot. 
But, my son . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

But, father, believe me — this is beyond your 
power and mine. Your thought is the same as 
mine; your wish the same; yet you and I can 
do nothing — but submit. 

Abbot. 

By the memory of all you hold sacred, I con- 
jure you . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

\_Impatiently.'\ Pray, father, retire . . . [Look- 
ing at the clock.'] In five minutes they will be 
here. 

Abbot. 

Confess, my son . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

There is time, good father. This is to be a 



MARS DISARMED. 115 

trial by jury. The verdict precedes execution. 
Between the two there will be room for confession. 

Abbot. 

The Lord have mercy on your soul. [Mirvoi- 
siN kneels; the Ahhot blesses him.] I shall not be 
far — send for me, my son. 

[Abbot goes out, followed by Sellier. Birson 
enters, carrying a small bag.] 

MiRVOISIN. 

Good morning to you, esteemed uncle. By 
the way, your prognostications of the other day 
are not verified. 

BiRSON. 

[Placing the bag on the table.] In what 
respect? 

MiRVOISIN. 

The cannon's day never came. Vimont lives, 
and is still bent on fighting ... in his own 
peculiar way. 

BiRSON. 

A rather solemn occasion for you to indulge 
in your own peculiar humor. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[With disdain.] Think you so, esteemed 
uncle ? What have you in that bag ? 



116 MARS DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

[Embarrassed.'] Nothing much — a thing or 
two the General may require. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah — ah — I see! What a type of the tradi- 
tional preacher you are! 

BiRSON. 

[Sarcastically.'] What does the oracle mean? 

MiRVOISIN. 

This — that you, the most fervent of Royalist 
preachers, have gone over [tapping his hag], bag 
and baggage, to the Bonapartist camp. 

BiRSON. 

Listen, Roger, listen . . . 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Moving to the door.] Listen to more of your 
moral preaching? No, uncle, not now. The 
moment is inopportune — I have other matters to 
attend to. 

[MiRVOISIN goes out. Birson, alone, opens the 
hag and takes out a small phial. He exam- 
ines it closely.] 

BiRSON. 

Guaranteed effective — beyond the recourse of 



MARS DISARMED. 117 

medicine. [He replaces the phial in the hag, and 
takes out a box of dice, which he shales hurriedly 
and throws the dice on the table.] Vimont, three 
juces — good! [Shakes the box and throws the dice 
again.] Mirvoisin, two fives— and nothing more 
— he loses! 

[Mirvoisin enters, accompanied by his sec- 
onds. They look at the clock. It strikes 
eleven, in deep sonorous tones. All are 
silent. At the last stroke Vimont and his 
seconds are announced. Vimont acts with 
suppressed excitement and speaks with forced 
calmness.] 

Vimont. 

Is everything ready, Birson? 

BiRSON. 

So far as I am concerned, all is ready. General. 
[Mirvoisin stands on one side of the table, 
Vimont on the other, as though eager to test 
the dice. The four seconds group^ themselves 
at a distance and are engaged in an ani- 
mated discussion. Birson stands alone, 
apparently indifferent to the issue.] 

Vimont. 

Gentlemen, Monsieur de Birson has consented 
to act as my proxy. [Birson offers the box of dice 
to Mirvoisin, ivho, with an air of deference, hands 
it back to Birson. The latter, eagerly loatched by 



118 MARS DISARMED. 

all, who have approached the table, shakes the box 
violently and throws the dice.] Three fives! 

[MiRVOisiN takes the box and is in the act of 
shaking it, when one of his seconds steps up.] 

Chartier. 

This is irregular. The dice have not been ex- 
amined; the signal has not been given. 

ViMONT. 

There are the dice; examine them. We await 
the signal. 

IThe seconds withdraw to a corner, and once 
more indulge in a discussion.] 

Latour. 

[Addressing Vimont and Mirvoisin.] I am 
compelled to inform you, gentlemen, that while 
we came to a conclusion last evening, we are far 
from agreeing this morning. 

ViMONT. 

In what respect? 

Latour. 

Monsieur Chartier and I are of the opinion 
that there is something unmanly, nay, repellant, 
in leaving to the cast of a die the lives of two 
brave men. 



MARS DISARMED. 119 

ViMONT. 

And I am of the opinion that this is a pre- 
pared plan — a trick — a trick, I say — to interfere 
with my securing satisfaction from this man 
[turning fiercely to Mirvoisin]. 

Chartier. 

You seem to forget, General Vimont, that you 
are the challenged party. 

Latour. 

Believe me. General, there is no desire on our 
part to deprive you or the Marquis of the means 
of securing satisfaction. 

ViMONT. 

[With emphasis.'] Then carry out the pro- 
gramme agreed upon. 

Chartier. 

Monsieur Latour and I do not consider that 
programme satisfactory. 

Vimont. 
Then suggest a better one. 

Latour. 

Remember, General, the Emperor's aversion to 
duels. "Good duelist, poor soldier" — is one of 
his axioms. 



120 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

A good duelist I can never be; a poor soldier I 
am doomed to be always. But that is not the 
point. We have met here for a specific purpose. 
Let us carry out that purpose. 

Latour. 

But, General, while we are here for a specific 
purpose, and while we all agree, more or less, 
that the purpose is not inconsistent with your 
sense of honor, or our sense of duty in the prem- 
ises, we differ widely as to the propriety of satis- 
fying that purpose in the manner referred to. 

Chartier. 

While I know I am not expressing Monsieur 
de Mirvoisin's wishes, I am convinced that, if 
free from passion, he would agree with Monsieur 
Latour and myself that the vindication of a 
man's honor should depend, not upon the cast of 
a die, but upon a test of superior strength or 
skill. 

ViMONT. 

That is your opinion — very well — I shall 
accept it as though my own. Vindication shall 
depend upon a test of superior strength or skill. 
Tie the Marquis's wrists behind his back. Thus 
he will have no advantage over me. Draw three 
parallel lines — ten, twenty, thirty feet apart, 
one here, one there, one there. We shall meet at 
the central line — face to face, chest to chest. He 



MARS DISARMED. 121 

who shall, twice out of three times, force his 
adversary to the further line, shall be victorious. 
If the Marquis, poison shall end my life; if I, he 
shall blow out his brains. 

Latour. 

[Addressing his colleague.^ He is bent on 
fighting. 

ViMONT. 

I am bent on settling this matter, now and on 
this spot. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Calmly^ The suggestion of the General 
meets with my approval. 

[The seconds confer for a few moments.'] 

Latour. 

[Addressing his colleagues, but loud enough' to be 
overheard.'] With all respect to the General, the 
proposition he has made, however ingenious, is 
impracticable. 

ViMONT. 

[With passion.] It is not impracticable! And 
even if it were a hundred times less so, you would 
still object — it is your game, your plan. Dice were 
decided upon, and objections were brought forth 
because our fate was to be left to chance. It 
was claimed that strength and skill were required. 
I now suggest something wherein strength and 
skill will be brought into play, and still you 
object. 



122 MARS DISARMED. 

Latour. 

Personally, I object, because it would be con- 
verting an affair of honor — a most serious matter 
— into a farce. A case of this nature can only 
be settled by fighting — with swords or pistols. 

ViMONT. 

The time was when there were no swords, no 
pistols, yet men fought. 

Latour. 
True — but they had fists. 

ViMONT. 

Animals fight, and they have no fists. If, as you 
insist, a duel should be a test of strength between 
adversaries, what matters it whether the issue be 
decided by means of pistols, swords, fists, horns, 
teeth, or chests? 

Latour. 

It matters this much: that one is recognized as 
civilized, the other as barbarous. 

ViMONT. 

Recognized — but on what grounds, by what 
right? The vain subtilities of custom, the incon- 
sistent regulation of nations! I have seen men 
killed in my day — by the hundred, by the thou- 
sand. I have galloped over battlefields covered 



MARS DISARMED. 123 

with slain. They were dead — dead — quite dead. 
What mattered it to them what killed them — 
balls, swords, bayonets, arrows, blows? Life 
was gone — gone beyond recourse; gone without 
their help, without their will; taken from them 
by the enemy. And you talk of civilized 
methods! The barbarian kills his man; so do 
we. What he does is barbarous; what we do 
is civilized. In either case the man is killed. 
Does the method employed make any difference 
to the man who is slain? Does it increase or 
diminish his chances of coming to life again? 
Does it relieve the man who killed him from the 
responsibility of his act? Throw poisoned food 
to the bird, or shatter its wings as it flies across 
the azure sky, does not the bird die? and are you 
not the cause of its death? Bah! Talk not to 
me of your civilized and your barbarous methods! 
Man may recognize what he pleases, resort to 
any distinctions, any niceties, he chooses — but in 
either case his nature remains the same, his pur- 
pose the same, the result the same. 

[The seconds look at each other, perplexed, 

amazed. Mirvoisin stands immovable, his 

eyes riveted on Vimont.] 

Latour. 

Pardon me. General; there is a difference 
between what you suggest and the accepted form 
of duel . . . 

Vimont. 

[Interrupting.] A difference, if you will — but 



124 MARS DISARMED. 

no greater than that existing between a duel 
with swords and one with pistols. 

Chartier. 
This is a perplexing case. 

ViMONT. 

It is perplexing to those only who wish to 
make it so. 

Latour. 

It is a most unusual case, and the means 
suggested for its settlement are of such a nature 
that we appeal to you — to both of you — if not to 
forget your differences, at least not to allow them 
to force you, and ourselves, into a position the 
consequences of which . . . 

ViMONT. 

I shirk none of the consequences. If the Mar- 
quis is disposed to do so, let him say so. [He 
pauses and casts a searching look at Mirvoisin.] 
In which case we shall ascertain the source of all 
these objections, these pourparlers. 

Mirvoisin. 
I shirk, or fear, none of the consequences. 
And I beg to inform you, sir, that I have not, as 
you have, attempted to influence the decision of 
the seconds. I placed my case in their hands, 
and there I have silently allowed it to remain. 
[The seconds confer. Vimont paces the floor 
impatiently, stopping, for a moment, to 
whisper something to Birson.] 



MARS DISARMED. 125 

Chartieb. 

\_TalMng forcibly to his colleague. '\ There is 
not, in my mind, sufficient cause for this duel. 

ViMONT. 

What! I spat in your principal's face and you 
do not deem that sufficient cause ? Would you 
have me repeat the offense ? 

Chartier. 
The original cause is the one I referred to. 

ViMONT. 

The secondary cause is the one I refer to. 

Chartier. 

Since you insist, we shall reluctantly perform 
the duty imposed upon us. Mirvoisin, are you 
ready ? 

Mirvoisin. 

[Stepping forward briskly.'] Ready! 

Chartier. 
With what shall his wrists be tied ? 

BiRSON. 

Here! 

[He draws from his pocket a large handker- 
chief and hands it to the seconds. One 



126 MARS DISARMED. 

of Vimont's seconds ties Mirvoisin's wrists 
tightly behind his bacl\ All the seconds 
examine the knot carefully and nod approv- 
ingly. Then they measure the distance be- 
betiveen the two walls, on either side of the 
room, moving the furniture for the purpose.'] 

Ch ARTIER. 

The central line shall be here. [He places a 
handkerchief on the floor to indicate the spot.] The 
outer lines shall be here [touching the wait], and 
there [pointing to the tvall on the opposite side, and 
which one of the seconds touches.] 

Latour. 

Now, gentlemen, I appeal to you once more. 
Is there no possibility of reconciling your differ- 
ences ? 

ViMONT. 

None. Let the contest begin. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So say I. 

Chartier. 
It is understood, then, that you shall meet 
here [pointing to the central line], chest to chest — 
and that he who shall, twice out of three times, 
force his adversary to the outer line, shall be 
victor. 

ViMONT. 

It is so understood and agreed. 



MARS DISARMED. 127 

MiRVOISIN. 

It is so understood and agreed. 

Chartier. 
What time shall be allowed to elapse between 
the contests ? 

ViMONT. 

For my part, I say let them follow in quick 
succession. 

MiRVOISIN. 

In quick succession. 

[The two men meet on the line, chest to chest. 
The seconds take position to observe the con- 
test. One of the latter puts the question, 
Are you ready? The principals respond 
in a firm voice, Yes. In deliberate tones 
one of the seconds counts, One, two, three. 
The struggle commences. With teeth set, the 
contestants strain every muscle to overcome 
each other. At first there is no perceptible 
advantage on either side; then, in turn, they 
gain on one another. Finally, Mirvoisin, 
making a supreme effort, pushes Vimont, 
with a rush, to the opposite wall. The sec- 
onds take note, while the tioo adversaries, 
looking fiercely at each other, resume their 
position at the central line. The question, 
"Are you ready ?" is asked and responded 
to. One, two, three. The second contest 
commences. From the start Vimont has 
the advantage. He is on the point of rush- 
ing MiRVOISIN to the wall, when the latter 
slips and falls to his knees.} 



128 MAES DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Turning excitedly to the seconds.'] I protest!- 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Rising. ] It was an accident — I swear! 

ViMONT. 

An accident which you can bring about when- 
ever you are on the point of losing. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Since he doubts my statement, I give him the 
second contest. 

ViMONT. 

[Indignantly.] Give! You cannot give that 
which is not yours. 

Latour. 

The absurdity of the situation is obvious. The 
contest must end. 

ViMONT. 

It shall end at the conclusion of the third con- 
test, not before. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Since he refuses to accept, as his, the second 
contest, let it be resumed here, where it was in- 
terrupted. 



MARS DISARMED. 129 

ViMONT. 

Let it be resumed from the central line, where 
it originally started — but with the understanding 
that a fall is to be considered equivalent to de- 
feat. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Agreed. 

[The two men face each other. They await the 
signal — hut the seconds hesitate.'] 

ViMONT. 

We are waiting for the word. 

Latour. 
Gentlemen, we beg you — desist. 

ViMONT. 

If you will not give the word, we shall. [He 
waits a minute, then turns fiercely to the seconds.] 
Since when is it the duty of principals to call 
seconds to time? 

Latour. 

The entire situation is abnormal, and the pro- 
ceedings irregular. 

ViMONT. 

Your presence here is evidence of your having 
accepted the situation. If you retract, we shall 
proceed without you. The question! [Heioaifs.] 
The question! [He waits.] The question! [He 



130 MARS DISARMED. 

waits — the seconds are silent. He addresses Mir- 
voisiN.] Are you ready? 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ready! 

ViMONT. 

Birson — count three. 

BiRSON. 

One — two — three. 

l^The second contest is resumed. It is a short, 
hut sharp, struggle, resulting in Vimont 
pushing Mirvoisin to the wall. The two 
men face each other again. They wait. 
Vimont loohs inquiringly to the seconds. 
They are silent.'] 

Vimont. 
[Addressing Mirvoisin.] Are you ready? 

Mirvoisin. 
Ready! 

Vimont. 
Birson — count three. 

Birson. 
One — two — three. 

[The third struggle commences, more deter- 



MARS DISARMED. 131 

mined, more prolonged than the previous 
ones. One has the advantage; then the other. 
Both come near being pushed to the ivall, 
when a supreme effort saves them, and the 
contest is resumed near the central line. The 
seconds are carried away by excitement, and 
follow the contestants with vivid interest. 
BiRSON loolcs on anxiously, swaying his body 
to and fro, as though his efforts coidd in- 
fluence the issue. Finally Mirvoisin takes 
. a firm stand and, inch by inch, he pushes 
ViMONT to the wall. The latter, out of 
breath, walks up to Birson.] 

ViMONT. 

The phial, Birson! 

[Mirvoisin and the seconds step up briskly.] 

Mirvoisin. 
For my part, General, I cheerfully withdraw 
the conditions that were imposed. Nay, I heg of 
you, as a favor, not to insist on carrying them 
out. 

ViMONT. 

[Haughtily.'] Thank you, sir, but I have no 
favors to ask at your hands; nor do I wish to 
receive any. Birson, the phial! 

Chartier. 
I beg of you, General, do not persist. 

[One of the seconds removes the handkerchief 
from Mirvoisin's wrists.] 



132 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

Birson, the phial! [Birson hesitates.'] Remem- 
ber your promise. [Birson opens the hag and pro- 
duces the phial.] Uncork it, Birson. [Birson, his 
fingers on the corh, looks at Vimont and still hesi- 
tates.] Uncork it, I say; uncork it, if you be a 
man of your word. [Birson uncorks the phial. The 
seconds rush between him and Vimont aiid exclair)i, 
'' We implore you, desist."—" What folly." —" It is 
a crime." — " It must not be." Vimont attempts 
to force his way to Birson. This scene must he full 
of action, Vimont struggling against the four sec- 
onds, who wish to keep him from Birson.] Fie on 
you! Fie! You cannot deter me with words. 
Break your compact if you will, I shall observe 
mine, to the letter. [He makes another desperate 
effort to reach Birson.] Stand back, I say! That 
man [looking at Birson] is bound to me by a 
solemn vow. Would you have him break his 
word? Would you have me despise him? Back 
— back! [Again he tries to force his way to Bir- 
son. During the scrimmage which follows, a half- 
suppressed scream is heard, a portiere is drawn 
aside, and Alixe and Mabel^in-e, followed by the 
Abbot, appear on the scene. Madeleine, fright- 
ened, partly clinging to the Abbot, remains at a 
distance from the group of men, while Alixe rushes 
forth to her brother. Vimont seems staggered for a 
moment. He draws himself away from AiuiXE. He 
looks at her and then at Madeleine.] What are 
you doing here? 



MARS DISARMED. 133 

Alixe. 
I am here to stop the perpetration of a crime. 

ViMONT. 

You are here to try and stop the fulfillment of 
a sacred duty. 

Alixe. 

Duty, I know, Eugene, is, from your stand- 
point, the carrying out of your word — given in 
excitement, under the influence of false impres- 
sions. But is there not a duty — a nobler, a 
higher, duty — which you owe to others? Forget 
me, if you will — me, who love you, look up to 
you, depend on you; but remember one other, 
one whose sentiments I make bold to voice when 
I say — what circumstances would otherwise for- 
bid me saying — that you once led her to believe 
you loved her, and that she has vowed her life to 
you. 

ViMONT. 

[Astonished.'] To whom do you refer? [Alixe 
turns towards Madeleine, who stands silent, with 
hands clasped and head bowed low.] Indeed you 
do make bold, for, unless I am grossly misin- 
formed, the lady Madeleine is prepared to bestow 
on another that which you say she has vowed to 
me. 

Alixe. 

On another! And pray, Eugene, to whom do 
you refer? 



134 MARS DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Turning to Mirvoisin.] To this man. 

Madeleine. 

[^Raising her head, with a look of surprise and 
indignation, moves towards Alixe and takes her 
hand.l Monsieur de Mirvoisin ! Never did he 
utter a word of love to me, or cast a loving 
glance. More than this, I shall say — what cir- 
cumstances would otherwise forbid me saying — 
that not only has Monsieur de Mirvoisin never 
sighed at my feet, but I know him to be the ever- 
constant lover of this fair lady [looking at 
Alixe] and I know full well that he loves her not 
in vain. 

ViMONT. 

[Perplexed.] Is this some plot, some precon- 
certed action, to deter me from my resolve? 

Abbot. 

[Stepping forward.] I betray no secret of the 
confessional when I confirm as facts what these 
ladies have here related. 

Alixe. 

[Still holding Madeleine's hand, advances tow- 
ards ViMONT.] Men swear on their honor, as 
gentlemen. Permit us, then, to swear on our 
honor — not a whit less sacred to us than theirs 
— as gentlewomen, that what we say is true. 



MARS DISARMED. 135 

Madeleine. 

And believe us— since we are women, and 
have said and done what woman's nature forbids 
her saying and doing— that our words and 
actions, which you have just heard and mt- 
nessed, sprang not from desire on our part, but 
from circumstances which we pray may be 
spared to others of our sex. Otherwise, silence 
would have chained our tongue, and our love 
died rather than betray itself. 

ViMONT. 

[LooUng intently at Alixe and Madeleine, as 
though to read their thoughts, and then turning to 
BiRSON.] How is this, Birson? This tale does 
not correspond with yours. [Birson hangs his 
head and is silent. Vimont turns to Mirvoisin.J 
Did you, or did you not, refer to me m insulting 
terms? 

MiRVOISIN. 

No words concerning you ever escaped my lips, 
save words of praise. No thoughts ever dwelt 
in my mind, save thoughts of kindness. Wish- 
ing above all else, to win your fair sister's hand, 
how could I have ventured to offend him from 
whom I was to ask that hand? 

ViMONT. 

I take your word for it— [he pauses]— a,nd 
crave your forgiveness. I cannot offer you my 
hand, but [facing Alixe] take hers— 'tis yours. 



136 MARS DISARMED. 

[MiRVOisiN tales Alixe's hand.'] Love her, be 
kind to her — 'tis all I ask. [Turning to Birson.] 
Birson, for reasons you well understand, I took 
you, a penniless wanderer, to my home. I gave 
you shelter, I gave you my confidence, I had 
reason to hope . . . Quick! quick! [The sec- 
onds rush forward and take from Birson the phial 
of poison which he is about to bring to his lips.~\ 
No, Birson, live — live, but go elsewhere if you 
would find victims for your vile deceit. It will 
prove less offensive if practiced on those to whom 
you do not owe a debt of gratitude. 

[Birson, with bowed head, is about to with- 
draw, when Madame and Mademoiselle de 
LA Marthe enter. They salute the company, 
who salute in turn. During this scene, 
Alixe and Madeleine are conversing, hold- 
ing each other^s hand, while Vimont and 
Mirvoisin are talking earnestly, in low 
tones.l 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 

[Addressing Birson.] We have been seeking 
you everywhere. 

Madame de la Marthe. 

[Taking Birson aside and folloioed by Madem- 
oiselle DE la Marthe.] A letter received this 
morning announces more family news of impor- 
tance. 



MARS DISARMED. 137 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
Our cousin Antoinette is to marry Monsieur 
de Bastiac. 

Madame de la Marthe. 
[Solem.nly.'] How true the family tradition! 
Only four days have elapsed, and already the 
second engagement is announced. 

Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
[To BiRSON. Maliciously.'] That kills your 
chance. 

BiRSON. 

[With greater evidence of malice.] Yours like- 
wise. 

Madame and Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
How so? How so? 

BiRSON. 

The third engagement is announced. 

Madame and Mdlle. de la Marthe. 
[Eagerly.] Whose? Whose? 

BiRSON. 

Our nephew de Mirvoisin is engaged to Mad- 
emoiselle Vimont. 

[Const er7iation of the two ladies, who withdraw 
to a corner, folloioed by Birson. Vimont 
and Mirvoisin join Alixe and Made- 
leine.] 



138 MARS DISARMED. 

Altxe. 

Did I not tell you, Eugene, that, if you tried, 
you should find something nobler than war, 
sweeter than renown — something that would 
awaken a new ambition? 

ViMONT. 

[Looking at Alixe, the7i at Madeleine, whom, he 
approaches, li Yes, fair sister, I have indeed 
found both the incentive to, and the reward of, 
true ambition. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Smilingly.^ Mars disarmed ... 

Abbot. 
Laus Deo semper I 



the end. 



